


Leech Lord

by BorderSpam



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Addiction, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Complex relationships, Cults, F/M, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Orgies, Non-Linear Narrative, Self Harm, Slow Burn, Violence, Worldbuilding, building off canon, functional AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 109
Words: 139,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25486936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BorderSpam/pseuds/BorderSpam
Summary: Collection series for the world-building and character snippets from the Leech Lord AU on Tumblr.The DeLeon twins land on Pandora with nothing but a barely functional ship and lofty expectations that quickly turn sour in the desert heat.The AU spans near a decade, from their lucky survival at the hands of a reluctant stranger - to the viciously meteoric rise of the COV as their aspirations, relationships, andmoralsare slowly consumed by the cursed power they were born burdened with.If you're too broken to believe you are human, the only options left are you're amonster... or aGod.Non-linear storytellingusing shorts, dialogue snippets, drabbles, and HC lists. Will update weekly. Chapters related to E rating and TW tags will have reminders noted at the beginning, majority are M.
Relationships: Troy - Relationship, Troy Calypso/Original Character(s), Typhon Deleon/ Leda
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Leech Lord AU





	1. Troy DeLeon / God King Calypso (AU differences from canon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

_**TW** : Self harm, mental illness, addiction._

* * *

List of character traits and world-building facets for this character within my AU that differ from / are of more importance than in canon. 

**Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:**

✓ **x** _Dangerously trusting._

  * Despite the isolation of his childhood and constant warning from his father regarding the outside world, Troy is incredibly fast to respond to any form of positive reinforcement or care. Being starved of both for most of his life causes him to desperately seek out meaningful relationships, without having the skill or understanding of how to initiate and maintain them, _or_ the experience to know if he is being manipulated.



_✓ Extremely intelligent_ , _if not highly learned._

  * Troy absorbs information at a frightening speed and would be considered a mathematical savant if he had entered any kind of education. The COV’s meteoric rise is linked to how quickly he began to work the numbers and statistics needed to climb to social dominance in a bustling media.



_✓ Natural alignment does not match his role._

  * Troy’s undamaged self is a vulnerable, gentle hearted man who would find more happiness in genuine thanks from someone he knew meant it, than he would from the adoration of the billions of followers who worship his persona.



_✓ Highly skilled at mimicry._

  * Troy is able to ingest media and dissect social interactions quickly and concisely, then integrate them into his persona and actions near instantly. He views almost all social interaction as a kind of step by step _game_ there are specific rules to, and so most people who have had direct contact with him have likely never had a genuine conversation with Troy. Just the God King Persona.



x _Easily controlled_.

  * Troy’s yearning for validation and praise from someone he sees as an authority / source of love makes him extremely _easy_ to manipulate. Without the ego and self confidence to stand fast against this, or the physical ability to leave the relationship he’s being used in, he will continue to waste more and more of himself away, for less and less thanks over time. 



x _Refusal to accept the reality of his situation_. 

  * Troy doesn’t have the strength or means of escape needed to allow himself to accept and deal with the truth of the snare he is trapped in, so continues to convince himself daily that Tyreen has his best interests at heart and the followers of the Twin Gods love **HIM** , not the vile persona he hides behind to avoid facing the reality of his toxic existence. 



x _Aggressively secretive towards anything he considers genuinely personal._

  * Troy has spent most of his life feeling like who he _really is_ is a monstrous freak no one can stand to be around, so almost **never** speaks truly about his interests or personality to others. Two people who think they have a speaking terms relationship with the God King would be disturbed once they compared what they thought his personality was with each other and found it to be completely different, realising he’d subtly mimicked their own interests and social cues when interacting with them as a way of creating a bond. The people in the past who Troy had been genuine and himself around have all left him. He no longer _makes that mistake._



_x Dangerous levels of self hatred and physically destructive behaviors._

  * Troy’s subconscious is completely aware that both the persona he vicariously lives through and the position he rules in as God King are created from lies and in no way reflect his actual wants or needs. He loathes himself both physically and mentally, viewing his inability to truly hide the damage to his body **The Leech** causes, and his weakness in continuing on with this charade instead of choosing death, as inexcusable failures he will never redeem himself from. He is self destructive socially in his aggression towards others and use of people to slake his physical lusts ( _when what he truly craves is a connection and to be genuinely cared about_ ), and physically in his reliance on alcohol and drugs to deal with his intrusive thoughts and inability to sleep. As time goes on within the COV eras, the damage under his bracer worsens through _self infliction_. It’s a way to focus his destructive hatred of himself on the part of his body he see’s as the epitome of his weakness, without anyone else knowing.



**Backstory:**

Bl3 canonical backstory till landing on Pandora where the AU begins, with additional points of:

  * Not expected to survive birth and marked as Non Viable on Leda’s med scans, Tyreen’s continuous (and unaware) low energy feeding allowed him to live, albeit exceptionally weakly. Spent most of his childhood bed-bound.
  * _Painfully_ aware of the burden he was on his family during this period.
  * Held onto some keepsakes from home, has the coat his father gave him hidden in his ship quarters, and a photo of Leda and the twins.
  * Misses Leda desperately, has not had any freely given care or love since she was last alive. Genuinely believes she would hate everything he is now, and it eats him inside.
  * At no point has _wanted_ what Tyreen wants, but is subconsciously aware at all times that his only choice is to convince himself that the COV and worship of billions is something he craves too, or _**die**_. 



**Personal:**

**Likes:**

  * Machines.
  * Being spoken to directly and respectfully without needing to intimidate with title or persona.
  * Genuine concern towards him.
  * Animals, though he knows little about them.
  * Almost all music genres.
  * Quiet time alone by choice, preferably in his quarters.
  * Being thanked or appreciated in any way.
  * His intelligence being noted.
  * Eagerness to communicate with him, or ask for his opinion on matters of importance.
  * Debating opinion on any topic, as long as the other person remains respectful.
  * Good coffee, fresh herbs, woody/spiced/citrus scents.
  * Going down 4am echonet holes and realising it’s 9 in the morning and he now knows how to make a basket out of Skag sinew but hasn’t slept in over 24 hours.
  * ~~The quiet whispers in the back of his mind that tell him one day, everything will be _ok_ , and he just needs to keep going.~~



**Dislikes:**

x _Public displays of affection around him_.

  * Troy is desperately, _agonisingly_ lonely despite having unlimited access to physical contact with followers eager to throw their bodies at him nightly. 



x _Dismissal or put downs towards his ego._

  * He can tolerate these to a level in private, but will not do so when done publicly or in front of people who’s respect he values.



x **Touching**.

  * While he is open to being touched, Troy has a noticeable aversion to touching others, even so much as rarely making contact with Tyreen with his hand. A combination of intense loneliness, self disgust, and barely controlled _aggression_ means he strongly dislikes initiating contact with others, and doesn’t feel comfortable doing it to those he is close with. If God King Calypso lays his hand on you, it generally means _you are about to **die**_. 



x _Any mentions of his original surname or middle name by Tyreen_. 

  * He feels in a way that she stole them from him, and reacts extremely poorly to hearing them from her. Regardless of her tone, it always feels like an _insult_



**Physical differences to canon:**

_The damage to Troy’s right side is severe and has affected most of his internal organs, stunting their functionality._

  * His entire right shoulder blade, all of his lymph nodes and musculature, and half of his collarbone on that side were completely consumed by Tyreen in utero. Under the bracer is a bruised, delicate ribcage leading up to the remains of his collarbone, with nothing to protect it from damage bar paper thin skin and scarring. He’s unable to build any muscle to pad the area as so much was lost in development.



_Body heavily modded with piercings and tattoos._

  * Split mouth maw mod as well as elongated prehensile tongue. Subdermals on either side of his clavicle and the grooves of his hips, both nipples pierced, ~~frenum ladder and king’s crown~~.



_Siren markings curve down his left thigh to the sole of his foot._

  * Right leg has a full greyscale piece of a skeleton lying in repose on a bed of lilies that grow through its skull and ribs, with hands clasped in prayer. Runs from his thigh to ankle.



_Prosthetics are noticeably more predatory_.

  * Robotic hand is clawed, and spinal implant shifts its plating with his moods. Capable of raising into a black arch of spines that pulses red light to match his markings once angered, or at will to threaten.



_Body build is highly physically developed while also betraying his terrible health._

  * Troy has **never recovered** from the damage to his self confidence that being mocked as “A giant, sickly freak” by the first other men he’d _ever met_ caused him. He’s spent years trying to make himself look as strong and intimidating as possible, despite the strain of building muscle onto a body barely able to store fat and with compromised organ quality. 
  * He’s visually both _noticeably muscula_ r, and _extremely frail_ by late COV, and would have a beautifully sculpted physique if it wasn’t coupled with jutting bones and bruised skin.




	2. Tyreen DeLeon / God Queen Calypso ( AU differences from canon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drug use.
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

List of character traits and world-building facets for this character within my AU that differ from / are of more importance than in canon. 

##  **Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:**

✓ **x** _Confidence is not a façade._

  * Unlike her twin, Tyreen’s self confidence is rock solid to an unquestionable level. Her God Queen persona is not an _act_ , it’s her natural disposition ramped into overdrive.



_✓ Highly Empathic_.

  * Ty is very emotionally charged as a person, and is notably in-tune in general to the energies of people she is in proximity with. She has always used this to her advantage, capable of reading a room very cleanly and modifying her behavior and approach to play on the emotional state of others.



_✓ Excellent Actor._

  * Her enjoyment of positive attention since childhood nurtured her into a very convincing natural performer. She can switch her emotion worryingly easily from sorrow to mirth, and it can be difficult to tell at times which is the actual genuine state she is feeling.



_✓ Extremely Adaptable._

  * Tyreen is almost impossible to deter as she automatically approaches any situation with complete belief she will overcome it. She is not easily stopped by plans going awry or not panning out, and rarely breaks momentum. Ty is so naturally assured of achieving whatever goal she is aiming for, that she see’s barriers others would see as impassable, as mere _setbacks_.



✓ _Highly Charismatic._

  * Her ability to draw the billions of worshippers that now compose the COV is no fluke. Between her natural charisma and intuition, and the excellently researched scripts and persona Troy writes for her, Tyreen is extremely magnetic to others.



✓ _Natural Leader._

  * Her rock solid self confidence and personal strength makes Tyreen highly attractive to those looking for guidance and a personality they can lean on. Her royalty is unquestionable, she was born to be a God Queen, and is _very, **very** aware of it._



x _Incapable of admitting fault._

  * Ty’s extreme self confidence and regard for her own opinion means she cannot face failure. She will aggressively, to at times a physically violent level, defend her actions and beliefs _regardless_ of whatever evidence is presented to her that shows she is incorrect or made a mistake.



x _Easily loses control of herself in high pressure situations._

  * Her highly emotionally charged and empathic personality can leave her unable to control her reactions when under stress or pressure. While Troy’s response to conflict or risk is to become exceptionally calm and dangerously in control, his twin’s is the _opposite_. Tyreen can easily descend into screeching, violent tantrums, or lash out physically and verbally at people she sees as the source of the emotion she is currently experiencing, regardless of if they are at fault. She is often a danger to herself and others, and cannot be trusted to stay in control when stressed.



x _Self centered._

  * Tyreen’s galaxy revolves around Tyreen. Tyreen _is_ Tyreen’s universe. She’s aware that there are people she should value, she should value **Troy** , she should value **Seifa** , she should value the other Saints like Mouthpiece, but she does not _feel_ that value. This can lead to her questioning herself at times, there is concern eating her internally that maybe she actually doesn’t _feel anything for anyone else_ , but she knows that’s wrong. She knows that’s weird, and Tyreen isn’t a **freak** , so she avoids dwelling on it.



x _Manipulative._

  * Tyreen learned at an early age that getting what she wanted was easier if she played on what the other person wanted too. She’s woven this so tightly into who she is over time, that she is no longer really aware of when she’s actually manipulating someone, Troy being the most common victim. If you asked her, she’d convince you she was being completely genuine and had the other person’s needs at heart. It’s a lie.



x _Illogical_.

  * Her firm belief that she is automatically correct and infallible is a huge threat to her, and despite having endured injury and hardships over the years due to not listening to advice or ignoring facts in favor of her own opinion, she is not open to changing.



x _Greedy_.

  * While **The Leech** has amplified this negative trait 100 fold, it’s still one of Tyreen’s natural characteristics. Her greed by mid COV is insatiable, her hunger impossible to extinguish. Nothing will ever be enough. Any satisfaction she finally feels at achieving or gaining something she has lusted for is short lived, **The Leech** consuming the sensation and leaving her chasing it desperately again. She is endlessly spiraling downwards, she can _never_ be content. She is cursed.



x _Values her life over anyone else._

  * Tyreen has built her throne on the bones of _family_. She has opened her arms to billions, given lost souls the belonging they craved, become a mother to the heaving masses of damaged minds across the Galaxy, but it does not contain a single person she would die for. There is **no one** she wouldn’t kill to survive. Leda _knew_. Typhon _knows_. Troy… Troy would snap your neck before you managed to finish asking if **_he_** does.



##  **Backstory:**

Bl3 canonical backstory till landing on Pandora where the AU begins, with additional points of:

  * Completely incapable of physical contact with any living organism bar Troy. Her power is wildly uncontrollable, and absorbs through any barrier within seconds. Its been this ravenous since the day it first revealed itself when the twins were 8 years old, and has never given her a _moment_ of relief from its constant hunger since.
  * Did not receive as much attention as she deserved as a young child due to her parents needing to provide constant care to her deathly ill twin. Tyreen suffered in silence for a long time during this period, too immature to be able to explain to her mother and father how she felt.
  * **The Leech** negatively warps her over time as it feeds within. Tyreen would have blossomed into an extroverted, empathic, loudly spoken center of attention without its influence as she grew. A positive, if slightly needy woman, with an irresistible charisma and penchant for theatrics. Her feelings for Troy would not have decayed into something so grotesque, and she could have been happy. Her insatiable, yearning, _demanding_ half of **The Leech** has doomed her to inescapable misery.



##  **Personal:**

**Likes:**

  * Positive attention and recognition.
  * Care or concern towards her emotional state, or mental/physical wellbeing.
  * Very few foods, but has a great love for citrus fruits and cured meats.
  * Textured fabrics, her inability to touch others has over time left her quite sensitive to tactile sensations, and she is a huge fan of expensive, high end fabrics and clothing created from them
  * Smoking. While she has little appetite for food or drink, joints and clove cigarettes are her go to relaxants. She enjoys the physical sensation of holding and smoking one, as well as the mental relief provided by the herbs Troy grows and dries for her.
  * Horrendously bad romance movies. The more cringe, the better. She’s seen _everything_ , and forced her brother to watch at least half. She knows in a way she’s living vicariously through them, but it feels like an innocent pleasure.
  * Interacting with her fans and worshippers. Tyreen is very loving and open towards the COV cultists, and genuinely sees them as the family she was able to _choose_ to have. This doesn’t change that she values them less than insects however, and she’s as likely to pause for a selfie with one as she is to husk them seconds later.



**Dislikes:**

x _Her natural hair colour_.

  * The dark brown was Leda’s. Her eye shape is Leda’s. Her _mouth_ is Leda’s. She doesn’t want to see her mother in the mirror, so she’s focused on those parts of her that remind her the most for changes in her aesthetic. Bleach, heavy eye makeup, liner to try and alter her lip shape. Tyreen is happy with her appearance, but it’s _her appearance_ she wants to see. Not the memory of her greatest fault.



x _Being challenged_.

  * While Ty is aware there are people who’s opinion’s she _needs_ to heed, like **Troy** and **Seifa** in the earlier years of the COV, she doesn’t _like_ following their instructions. It’s a personal insult to her deepest core when she has to choose to not follow her own volition. Over time, it breeds contempt inside her that she doesn’t care enough to quell. A trusted advisor will become someone to _eventually mock_ , a valued sibling or mentor will become _the enemy, a burden, someone she knows better than_. Tyreen hates so easily, it’s like breathing.



x _Being looked down on._

  * Tyreen is a God. There is no question, no space for disbelief. She is a deity, she is not human, she transcends that term. Ten billion people across the galaxy praise her hallowed name nightly, so the idea of some corporate scum fucking bastard acting like he’s above her in a meeting room, sitting in a suit he thinks is showing off his wealth when she could literally buy the company that made it, is an insult she cannot bare. Troy _has_ to accompany Tyreen in any face to face interaction with a sponsor. He _has_ to do the talking, he _has_ to control the situation. Without her twin to maintain her calm, Tyreen would tear these people to chunks of viscera. She cannot abide **mockery**.



x _Her Father_.

  * While Typhon genuinely believes he did his best for the twins and was trying to protect them from the horrors of the Galaxy, he has ended up becoming the focal point of every single thing Tyreen loathes. The i _ndignity_ of being controlled by this tiny, weak little man. The _insult_ of being caged on a planet he decided to enslave her on. The _shame_ towards the overbearing control and fear he showed her as she grew up on Nekrotafeyo. _She hates him. She hates him. **She hates him**_.



x _Her Brother._

  * Troy took everything she could have been away from her. It’s that simple. He _did_. There is no way to defend what happened. Regardless of her consuming him in the womb, regardless of what he wanted or not, he crippled her for life. He destroyed her Siren power, he stole her future, he tore any happiness she could ever have felt away from her, and left her with nothing but hunger, and hatred, and _need_. He’s also the _only_ person in the universe who knows her. He’s the only person who cares for _her_. She despise him so much, she despises him so much that it _**almost**_ feels like love.



x. _Herself_.

  * ~~Not human. Not divine. Just a Leech. Just a fucking _monster_.~~



##  **Physical differences to canon:**

\- _Scarring is more noticeable_ :

  * Ty was glassed in the face in their first week on Pandora. Their _first week_. One of their earliest attempts to approach a bandit camp, and she’d had a broken bottle swung at her before she could even open her mouth to start Troy’s rehearsed speech. It was also the first time she’d husked after landing, and was in self defense while the blood blinded her. The scars across her nose are jagged, and a little more set into her cheeks in depth.



\- _Left hand has long term damage:_

  * Her hand sustained severe damage in a childhood incident. The white glove she wears is more to hide what she perceives as a weakness than to protect others from her powers. Cloth does practically nothing to prevent **The Leech** consuming what she touches, a lesson she learned the hard way in the trauma that lead to her fingers being crushed.



\- _Troy was attached to her stomach_ :

  * Tyreen began to absorb Troy early in the pregnancy before her Siren power flowed into him when they had merged enough for it to consider them the same being. He was attached shoulder to her sternum, and was born with her wrapped around his smaller body. Separating them did no long term damage to Tyreen, unlike her twin, but she has a massive puckered scar running from below her sternum to her navel. This is **very cool** if you ask her, and the sole reason she doesn’t display it is to keep their origins secretive, not due to any form of shame.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	3. Seifa A’rosk / Ur-Machina / Saint of the God King’s Mechanicum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

  
List of character traits and world-building facets for this character within the AU. ~~~~

##  _**Physical Details:** _

  * Right handed.
  * Very short, 4′11″, and rarely seen out of heeled boots.
  * 5 years older than the twins, in her mid twenties when she came across the scabby looking rat who introduced herself as Tyreen.
  * Long auburn hair she usually wears in waves.
  * Right side shave, warm blue eyes, septum/eyebrow/labret facial piercings
  * Average bodyweight, hourglass shape.
  * Saint sigil tattoo between her shoulder-blades, much to her disgust.
  * Couple of small scars across torso, stab wound near navel, nicks across left ribs. 
  * Visible facial scar is paper thin and streaks across her right brow into her hairline. Tells everyone this was from a knife fight, but was actually from an echodevice she was trying to scavenge components from blowing in her face a decade ago. Figures she might as well try and get some intimidation points out of it.
  * Relaxed punk aesthetic she carries into her engineering uniform.
  * Usually covered in homemade jewelry.



##  _**Backstory:** _

  * Sei is a migrant junker/mechanic, and has been running a solo career as one since her late teens.
  * She has no memory of family, and doesn’t care in the slightest. Figures she was probably sold into child labor before she was old enough to remember who they were. Loses no sleep over this and rarely gives it any thought.
  * Grew up traveling with her “Boss” ( _head of the scavenging ring who managed herself and the other skinny little kids she was raised with_ ) between different rim planets including Pandora, scrapping and repairing tech while scavenging the thousands of ship husks dumped during the corporate wars.
  * Spent her formative years constantly surrounded by other children and teens who helped each other get each other through what should have been a relatively lonely existence, and developed a close family bond with many.
  * Retained contact with a lot of them in adulthood. They operate a network of mechanics and engineers across the system, a few of which come to work within the COV Mechanica when they realise she can offer safety.
  * Spent her childhood and teens learning the **art of the deal** from her boss, accompanying him on trade runs, market dealings, ~~debt collections,~~ anything and everything he figured would help her in the long term. Learned everything she could while accompanying him as a kid, like a filthy little sponge in too-big overalls and a runny nose.
  * Engineering and mech skills have been honed from years of pulling apart and crawling into junked ships, repairing and reselling on components for profit.
  * At 19, she had saved enough to purchase a shitty little rehashed transport ship from her Boss, and set out to start her own trade. They’ve kept in touch and are on friendly grounds. Still calls him _**Boss**_. Never actually learned _his name,_ it didn’t matter.
  * Seifa spends years migrating between outer planets, building a reputation with her bartering and trade skills. Playing idiot traders like instruments, flirting her way into high profit deals, and starting bar fights. She doesn’t take part in them mind you, she’s a **_lady_**. She just _starts_ them. 
  * It’s an easy way to get a group of “eager investors” to weed out the lesser competition, and leave you able to playfully manipulate yourself into the good graces of someone who’s too horny and pumped up on the hormonal rush of the fight to realise that **they** are the mark.


  * Moves to the next planet once she’s outstayed her welcome, but always makes more friends than enemies.
  * At 25, finds a terrified and not remotely intimidating girl in a Pandoran junkyard, who pulls a gun on her. Tyreen tries to mug her with a shitty SMG that’s clearly out of ammo, has a jammed trigger, and gets laughed at in response. Gets called a weird, stupid kid. Gets interrogated about how she is too old to be on Pandora and still alive if this is how clueless she is, so what’s going on? 
  * Ty breaks down into tears and begs to please, _please_ get her some medicine. Her “ _Brother is so sick”_ and he’s “ _all she has now”,_ and they’ve “ _no money, no supplies. It wasn’t meant to go like this, it shouldn’t have gone like this but they didn’t **know what it would be like**.._” and in a rare moment of empathy likely routed in years of being around kids this stupid, and clueless, and _dumb_ … Seifa _helps_.



##  _**Traits: ✓ Positive x Negative:** _

_**✓** Confident, both in her appearance and knowledge.  
_

  * Sei is a jack of all trades, master of none. Her range of knowledge is broad and useful, and her confidence stems both from her well maintained physical appearance, and general competency in most situations where she needs to be.



_**✓** _ _Socially skilled, fast learner, adaptable._

  * She’s been learning on her feet as long as she can remember, and is highly socially skilled, though a lot of her “nice” interactions can be a veneer. She holds people at arms length without them realising she’s not being as open and friendly as she appears.



_**✓** _ _Self sufficient, reliable, trustworthy._

  * _A_ n adult lifetime of needing to rely solely on herself has left her highly sufficient, and very dependable. Seifa is the kind of person you call when you need something **done** , and don’t need to ask questions about how she gets you your results. You’ll get what you need.. just don’t hassle her about how she achieved it. You’ll be told to piss off, very clearly.



_**✓** Excellent negotiator, skilled in controlling conversations and manipulating others from years of trading for a living.  
_

  * _Seifa has_ been learning how to argue, shift conversations towards her own goals, and turn competitors on each other since she was barely able to carry a wrench. She’s an excellent dealer, and can drop into one of her many characters instantly when they’d help shift a contract towards her gain. **Floozy giggling newcomer?** Got it. **Clueless naive big spender?** No problem. **Trade baroness about to crush your knuckles?** Game on.  
  

  * It’s something the twin strays she rescues are _very interested in learning from her._



_**✓** Naturally friendly, and **deeply** caring for those she bonds with._

  * Sei is generally easy to get on with, between her decent set of social skills and ability to quickly read people, she comes across as quite friendly and overall pleasant to most people. She’s very slow to become genuine around others or show her caring side, an understandable side effect of the kind of life she’s lived, but her close friends are very close, and see her as one for life _._



_**✓** _ _Lawful Neutral._

  * Morals are decent ( for a Pandoran) , and is always willing to help someone if it’s not too much hassle or won’t put her out. Like the majority of people living on this rock however, she won’t put strangers before her own safety or wellbeing.



_**x** Very vain._

  * Sei will sacrifice functionality for style in the Mechanicum without a second thought, and will become frustrated and snappy if unhappy with her appearance and forced into social situations. She’s had a lifetime of curating her looks and using them as a _tool_ , and hates being seen “out of character”.



_**x** Self focused. _

  * She won’t risk harm physically or to her reputation for someone she has no stake in. Fact of life on Pandora is that people who do that don’t tend to live very long, and she’s highly aware of that. Close friends and children are about it when it comes to who she’d take a risk for, and bandits slaughtering each other or ransacking towns is unlikely to be something she’d be very phased by. It’s not that she _doesn’t care_ , she just doesn’t allow herself to.



_**x** Irritable, easily brought to frustration or insulted. Holds grudges badly._

  * Seifa manages her collected and cool outer demeanor by pushing it over her emotional state. It’s a defense mechanism she’s learned from a lifetime of being in situations where emotion = weakness. Her high personal opinion of herself and pride in her skill means she takes to being insulted very easily. A subordinate who doesn’t show her respect won’t stay in her department long, and an equal who treats her like an underling? She will **Never. Let. It. Go.**



_**x** Snappy and unpleasant when stressed or overworked, unable to handle emotion based arguments._

  * Seifa’s response to stress or frustration is to become overwhelmingly in control of the situation, and fiercely logical. Her social niceness evaporates and she defaults to the simple level of “ _Get this shit done NOW, and don’t question me_ ” when it comes to dolling out required tasks. This is a bad thing to couple with arrogance. She is also completely incapable of arguing with someone who uses emotion instead of logic as their drive, and so while she is able to communicate with **Troy** very well even in heated times as they both default to logic, arguments between herself and **Tyreen** can become vicious, as neither is capable of expressing themselves in the other’s language when frustrated.



_**x** Loyalty to close friends can overpower her better judgement in situations._

  * She’s completely aware of the hypocrisy of this weakness considering the front she likes to portray, being cold and unaffected by problems, but has never been able to stop herself from making this same mistake. Over and over.



**x** _Noticeably arrogant, no respect for the chain of command._

  * Relying on her gut for survival through her life left her with an inflated sense of worth for her own opinion, and she finds it very hard to really convince herself that others may be the better option, or have more value than her own. This means she can also easily forget her place if she thinks a superior is in the wrong. Has earned her a stab to the abdomen and a broken wrist in the past. Both healed, both scarred. Her arrogance towards the twins, being that they are younger and far less experienced than her in general life, has caused multiple confrontation. She know’s it’s a problem, and she’s _trying_ to get better. She _really_ is.



##  **Likes:**

  * Money.
  * Personal freedoms.
  * Self reliance.
  * Feeling admired and appreciated.
  * Close companionships with friends who see her as an equal.
  * Her advice being heeded.
  * Growing plants.
  * Tinkering with smalltime tech and gadgets.
  * The safety of the COV meaning she can finally settle in one place.
  * Respect.
  * Being wanted, physically and emotionally.
  * Tenderness.
  * Gaming, watching movies, appreciating art. 
  * Crafting jewelry from scrap
  * Having her gentle, caring nature be valued.
  * Men.



##  **Dislikes:**

  * Bullshit. Can’t stand people who don’t communicate logically.
  * Being spoken down to.
  * Her appearance being mocked or intelligence belittled.
  * Social sycophancy.
  * Being lied to, having her trust broken when she so rarely gives it.
  * Unfairness, aimed at her or those she feels protective over ( f _riends, underlings_ )
  * Pointless violence.
  * Risk taking.
  * Most things considered *edible* on Pandora.
  * _Men_.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	4. The Leech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

The first thing that’s important to know about Siren powers in LL, is that the line between a _symbiotic and parasitical relationship is a fine one indeed._

_( ~~Worldbuilding with what we got when half of established Siren lore got decimated by BL3~~ )_

  * The Siren powers are **_entities_** , not magical powers. _Things,_ beings too alien and removed from our reality to have a comprehendible nature, that choose their carriers themselves. 
  * Galactic forces that can lash across the infinite depths of space in the millisecond between their host dying and a new Siren’s tattoos flaring, that no culture has ever come close to taming or understanding on any level that matters.
  * They call across the empty void to each other, an eternal silent song to their ancient sisters that haunts the dreams of those close to the tear. The Eridium drugged, the Bandits, the _mad corporate dictator_ s..



Whatever cosmic spark exploded into existence galaxies and energy out of nothingness forged them too. They’ve always existed, they always _will_ exist, and **The Leech** is no longer any _semblance_ of sane.

### In this AU Nyriad really, _really_ fucked up.

The great powers choose their hosts themselves, they’ve done so before humans existed, weaving in and out of the lives of races no longer remembered even in the archives of the Siren orders. They’ve seen the rise and fall of more cultures and galactic empires than a mortal mind could fathom, and now are limited to soft, delicate humans. Human women specifically, but the lack of diversity after eons of extinction events is hardly a concern to them because they simply _do not care._

They don’t exist on the same plane of reality as the beings who’s lives their gifts are used against. They are cold, senseless, neutral existences who will never communicate or interact in any way with their hosts. A Siren could become a God, could raze planets and massacre innocents with her abilities, and the power itself wouldn’t _even notice._   
  
Of the 7 Sirens, **The Leech** is the only apex predator, it’s the top of the chain, the one power that can consume the others and break the chain of their powers being reborn in new hosts. It exists for a reason, it’s the scion of balance, but it’s as whole and pure as the Siren who commands it, and that’s _very_ dangerous.  
  
Nyriad wasn’t cruel, she wasn’t insane or a ravenous monster, **The Leech** she hosted was like any of the other Siren powers, a willing tool who had chosen her to symbiotically bond with, to use its power as she chose fit. She was completely and utterly aware that what she contained was the balancing point for the others. **The Leech** could be all of them, all 7 in one form that will never die and never be stopped. It was the executioner on a cosmic scale, but Nyriad didn’t want to live forever, Nyriad wanted to die, and was terrified that whoever it chose next may not be someone who could be trusted with that power. That it would be someone who’d realise the potential of hosting the Siren that could consume all others, and she decided of her own volition that if she couldn’t be sure the next host could handle the responsibility, she’d rather it never be handled again.

She was meant to be **The Leech** , always. She was the perfect temperament, a safe-hold for a power too dangerous to be released to the wiles of fate, but _she_ wasn’t strong enough for eternity as a warden.

  * It was her choice to starve herself away from all life sources in that vault.
  * It was her choice to be consumed by a desperate entity till it released from the husk of her corpse into a cell it had no escape from.
  * It was her choice to imprison it for millennia in those enclosed walls, being driven mad over the ages, completely cut off from the vast infinity of the cosmos it desperately seeked to surge across, from the food it starved for, from _the others_. 



She left it alone, trapped and vicious, all because she wasn’t strong enough to live with the guilt of what she had done to the Eridians. That _never should have happened_ , she should have remained **The Leech** , far away on a simple world, a cosmic backup plan that hopefully would never need to be initiated. Instead, she gave up, forced herself to die, and released it to an uncertain future. She wasn’t a hero, and I feel like her logs do _try_ and paint her as knowing she was failing in her _real tas_ k. _  
_  
**The Leech** never chose the Twins, it had no other choice, no other host after so long alone, starving. It never _wanted_ either of them.. and now it’s split in two, mad, in the hands of children who never should have existed as they are, been cursed how they were, or been selected to bear that burden.

It’s broken and out of control now, locked between them. The other Siren powers listen and follow their host’s wills, they trust them, they selected them. **The Leech** only acts in its own interests and to sate its own lusts, like the link between Siren and her actual power just doesn’t exist for Tyreen. 

She’s spent her whole life trying to keep it controlled, but every year that passes and it gets bigger, stronger, harder and _harder_ to grip. Troy has the controlled side, his is timid to the point of not even reacting when he tries to call it. With every year it sinks claws into her brain deeper, every minute it takes over more of her, her hold on it slips further. Tyreen’s humanity is skin deep now, what roils below the surface is a _**monster**_.

This isn’t something she hides from anymore. If anything as the years pass in the COV, she starts to enjoy it. The horror of the bystanders, the screeched praise of the masses, it’s what’s inside her that’s feeding on the attention, the worship, but she thinks it’s her. 

She thinks it makes _her_ happy… It’s _never_ her. 

If **The Leech** was ever healed? Brought whole again?

It would be capable of feeling sated at last, finally at peace. 

It would be what it was meant to be, as logical, controlled, and relentless as its owner, rather than a burden.

It just needs _the right host…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!
> 
> Artsource - https://www.artstation.com/artwork/RYer6m


	5. The Leech Siren's effect on its hosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **The Leech Siren split:**

  * Nyriad’s power settles in Tyreen early in development.
  * Uncontrollable and ravenous, it causes her to begin to consume her twin in the first trimester.
  * Fusing into chimeric twins, her power pours into him, leaving _one_ connected form, sharing the _same_ Leech Siren power. 
  * Cutting them apart after birth caused the massive power disconnect and warped functionality of their abilities.
  * Whole and undamaged, the Leech Siren would be a power conduit, able to **pull energy from living beings, store it, and infuse it into others.**
  * It would have been able to absorb and consume all other Sirens, adding their powers to the _host._
  * It was _by far_ the most dangerous of the known Siren powers and in the wrong hands, could have reached horrifying levels of destructive force.
  * Damaged.. well…



##  **Tyreen:**

  * Tyreen’s half of the power is the ability to absorb energy from any living thing.
  * What she doesn’t have, is the _off_ switch. 
  * Tyreen’s power absorption is constantly active and impossible to control.
  * She can lash out at range by choice, but she cannot control it flaring on touch.
  * She cannot _store_ the energy she absorbs very well, and tends to either release it by syphoning it into her brother, or through explosive outbursts of crackling energy bolts.
  * She is unable to push energy into others.



##  **Troy:**

  * Troy’s half of the power is the complete opposite.
  * While Tyreen can’t turn hers _off_ , he can’t turn his _**on**_.
  * He’s unable to take in energy, bar through his sister. This means the Leech is constantly consuming his energy levels (and himself if they are too low).
  * Troy can store energy just as well as Tyreen, but being unable to top his up naturally, he isn’t aware of this and feels constantly weak and tired.
  * The only power to take in energy he retains, is from _other Sirens,_ and he has been doing so from Tyreen their whole lives while thinking she was channeling it into him.
  * Once he accidentally absorbs Maya’s power, he unlocks her ability to consume Eridium, giving him an unlimited energy source at last. 
  * With this glut of energy, he realises his main Leech Siren ability. Anointing _others_ with his power.



##  **Effects on the twin’s health:**

The power split has affected both twins very negatively, both physically and mentally.

##  **Tyreen:**

  * Took the brunt of the Leech burden mentally.
  * Completely unable to touch others directly without consuming them since her powers flared at around age 8.
  * If her emotions are relatively calm, she can maintain skin contact for a few seconds, longer if through cloth or a barrier like her gloves.
  * Any longer and they will be leeched to death, quickly, painfully, and uncontrollably.
  * Her mother’s accidental death due to this is something she has **never** recovered from.
  * Typhon’s reaction of both being terrified of /terrified to lose Tyreen afterwards was the deciding factor in their forced imprisonment on Nekrotofeyo, something that harmed her formatively more than she would ever admit. 
  * She carries constant, deep resentment and pity for Troy since childhood.
  * His terrible physical condition and chronic illness is due to her power… but she’s also cursed with the broken half she has because he took it from her. 
  * In her mind, he’s both a burden and someone she is completely responsible for harming, and as time passes in her role of God Queen within the COV, the balance tips more towards seeing him as a parasite.
  * Something that sucked HER power out of her and can’t even _use_ it, while she’s stuck unable to _stop_ using it.
  * It’s his fault she’s stuck like this.. but it’s her fault he’s so sick. ~~Maybe it would have been better if he’d just died before they fused..~~
  * Physically, she heals incredibly quickly and rarely feels the need to eat. The energy she absorbs is more than enough to feed her body.
  * Due to this, she has a very weak digestive system and doesn’t enjoy most foods. Her ravenous hunger isn’t the same as a physical appetite, and she wishes it was.



##  **Troy:**

  * Troy took the brunt physically, and has done so since birth.
  * Tyreen had partially consumed him before the Leech passed to him too and halted the process. He was attached shoulder to her stomach at birth, with her wrapped around his slightly smaller body.
  * His entire right arm was absorbed, as well as most of his shoulder blade and the glands and lymph nodes that should have formed under his arm. 
  * His heart, liver, and kidneys are slightly stunted and can’t function at full capacity. He’s often physically exhausted even directly after Tyreen feeds him energy due to this.
  * The internal damage and stress on his system as a child from constantly feeding the Leech with very little energy being returned also meant his hormones were wildly out of balance while growing, and are the cause of his height, build, and bone structure. 
  * His testosterone levels are also lower than he would like them to be, ~~but that’s something he’d pretend to be ignorant of if pushed.~~
  * His bone density is mildly compromised, and the spinal/neural implant he installed mid COV era are both to help support his weaker than average spine under the weight of his massive prosthetic, and monitor his vitals / inject stimulants as needed.
  * While he can heal as fast as Tyreen, doing so, like everything related to the Leech, is a massive drain on his system that can leave him in a state of exhaustion afterwards.
  * Lower energy levels lead to migraines, muscular spasms, and before his neuro implant, mild _seizures_.
  * Enjoys food and has a great palette, but like Tyreen, has a delicate digestive system and needs to be wary of what he eats.
  * Unable to maintain weight easily, the Leech continually consumes his reserves.
  * His existing musculature is only maintained by the crushing weight of carrying the 40kg prosthetic, leaving his upper back, lats, lower hip flectors and abdomen noticeably more developed than the rest of his body from the strain of bending and moving while carrying the bulk
  * He’s intensely proud of this, even if a healthy man would look _**far**_ more developed in the same situation.
  * If he had lived after unlocking being able to feed himself on Eridium, would eventually have evened out into a toned, healthy physique, but his chronic issues would have remained.



Neither twin would be likely to reproduce, a physical impossibility for Tyreen who’s body would destroy any living thing it distinguished as not it, and extremely unlikely for Troy who’s count levels would be too low to be considered viable.  
  
They have never talked directly about this, and understand it about each other without needing to put it into words.


	6. Overheard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

> _**Commercial trade vessel ID 122-J-Prom / Cpt - Seifa A’rosk - Crew quarters:** _

**Log begins.**

( _Muffled voices_ )

**Troy** **:** ( _sounds of shifting cloth_ ) “Sorry Ty, I’m j-just **sorry** ok? I should have r-researched more before we tried. I ruined it. They wouldn’t have laughed us out of the camp if what I wrote wasn’t so..” ( _paper shuffling_ ) “..s-shit.”

 **Tyreen** **:** ( _Musical laughter_ ) “Troy it’s fine. It’s _fiiiiiine_!” ( _light footsteps_ ) “It all worked out ok didn’t it?”

 **Troy **: “No? No Tyreen it didn’t, what are you talking about? This isn’t f-” ( _dry coughing followed by an audible swallow_ ) “-fine at all.”

 **Tyreen **: ( _Her intonation is condescending_ ) “Oh of _course_ it is. We got this ship, we got this lady, everyth -”

 **Troy **: “This lady we don’t know we can even trust?”

 **Tyreen **: “- ing’s ok. You’re **so** clever, bro.” ( _sound of a mattress creaking_ ) “ _You’ll_ work out what we need to do next.”

 **Troy **: ( _Voice shaking in obvious distress_ ) “It’s not ok. I nearly d-died, Ty. This woman hasn’t killed us, yeah, but what does that mean in this place? She could b-b planning to sell us off? Dad said we were valuable to the wrong people, what if that’s w-what’s happening? I can barely _move_ Ty- ”

 **Tyreen **: ( _Scoffing laughter_ )

 **Troy **: “ - What if you had found a different person in the scrap? Or no one? We’d be dead.” ( _his voice drops to a pleading whispe_ r) “Do you not **get** how serious this is? Do you n-not get how close I was, Ty? We only made it by **luck** , not cause we know h-how to survive here, an-”

 **Tyreen** **:** ( _Speaking directly over him in an aggressively positive tone_ ) “Bullshit bro, you got this! You got it, I totally believe in you, ok? We’ll chill here for a bit till you’re well, I can work some jobs for her, we got a GREAT break outta nowhere, and it’s a _sign_ we’re on the right track!” ( _He tries to speak but she cuts him off)_ “It’s **_mom_** lookin' out for us, you know? We can’t ignore it.”

 **Troy **: “Ty…”

 ~~ **Tyreen **~~: ( _hollow sound of a hand slapping a back_ ) “You’ll have us on our feet in no time, Troy.” _(quietly)_ “I know you. You’d _never_ let us down.”

_(Foot steps fading)_

_(A sniffle)_

**Log ends.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	7. Open book (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

##  **Everything, and far sooner than Tyreen was ok with, mostly because Troy is _so weird_.**

## 

Ty had given her a basic breakdown on the twin’s first night on her ship once Sei got a drip into Troy and it was clear he wasn’t on death’s door anymore. The buggy ride back to her ship had been terrible, not knowing these kids yet hadn’t made hearing Tyreen’s wracking sobs or the rattle of Troy’s lungs any _easier_.  
  
She’d done her best to focus on driving, tuning her hearing to the crunch of the scorched dust under their wheels, and away from what the girl was saying to her brother as she leaned over him in the back seat. Ty was whispering as she braced his head on her lap, reassurances and mild threats that he _better wake up_ , and Sei would have smiled at the love being shown if it wasn’t so _personal_. Listening in felt… intrusive. There was a very real chance he’d not be alive by the time they made it to her dock, she’d let Tyreen have this time with him in private. It was between them, not her. _She_ was just the fool who hadn’t sense enough to turn down a stray girl’s pleads for help, and Sei was _sure_ she was going to regret it.

Once he was finally stable hours later, she’d insisted the girl level with her. The amount of _charity_ she was willing to offer strangers was nearing its limit, it was time for Tyreen to justify why Sei should continue being hospitable when she’d done what she’d been begged to, now that Troy was going to make it. Ty slumped on the floor next to the wall cot where he slept and sniffled between tears that they _weren’t from Pandora_. That they hadn’t been prepared for _any_ of this and how quickly things had gone wrong. She’d said all she had now was her brother, whimpered through hiccups that she’d nearly lost him too because she hadn’t been able to _help_ when he got sick, and promised she’d pay her back somehow if they could stay just a few more days.   
  
Sei had sighed, rubbing at her forehead tiredly as she felt a headache mull behind her eyes. Painfully aware that two dirty, sick kids with nowhere to go and no one to fall back on were people she’d _never_ be able to forgive herself for turning away, she’d told Ty just to go to fucking sleep. They’d discuss it tomorrow, and that she hoped Tyreen was aware just how lucky she really was to have run into someone stupid enough to give them _a chance_ … that they would need to _earn their keep._

That dynamic became the norm even after Troy woke up. Ty did all the talking, while Troy said nothing for _weeks_. His fearful silence around her in the crew quarters or the way he’d pretend to be asleep and refuse to make eye contact had left Seifa worrying he may be mute; a real possibility considering how often you’d come across folk with selective communication on Pandora. When she brought it up with Ty eventually, she laughed, then waved her hand dismissively. Nah, he wasn’t mute, she’d scoffed. He was just _an awkward tool._

Sei would hear them discussing things in muffled voices behind closed doors, but he remained silent around her, eyes wide as he’d pick at the threadbare hem of his sweater and nod yes or no responses politely. 

She would never have thought it would be **_him_** that would tell her everything.

Ty had opened up plenty in those first few weeks, especially once she’d decided Seifa could be trusted after not changing how she treated either when Troy’s Siren status had been noted by the medic he’d needed. Tyreen had been adamant at first that they couldn’t _trust_ doctors, that letting anyone know what she and Troy were would be a deadly mistake, but Sei had sworn her “friend” would keep them both under wraps and helped the younger woman understand her brother _needed_ help. She’d been right, Troy’s condition had improved, they hadn’t been sold to a corporation, and Ty blossomed into being genuinely chatty instead of suspiciously reserved.

A happy Tyreen was all confidence and NO subtlety, she’d make huge broad statements like how they were from a “A little backwater planet, oh _you_ wouldn’t have heard of it…” whoever she learned it from was a rampant bullshitter who relied on being boisterous, not believable, and Sei would smirk as she sipped from her coffee, nodding along with Tyreen’s clumsy attempts to lie about how they moved here to be stars, taking notes on what she’d need to teach this woman if she was going to have a _chance_.   
  
“Stars…” she’d replied, the twinkle in her eye betraying her amusement at the entire scene Ty had just worked so hard on, “ _ **Stars**_ don’t wear pants with the asses near tore out of em, Tyreen. You got a _lot_ of work to do, and you gotta start from the ground, love.“   
  
By the end of the month Ty was raring for opportunity to get off the ship, while Troy was _just_ about mobile, still weak enough to not be able to stand for long. It had been painfully clear his physical condition was poor, the virus that had nearly killed him in their first week on the planet would have been shrugged off as a head-cold by most natives, but weeks later and you could _still_ hear the rattle in his lungs and see the tremor in his hand. Ty had been accompanying Sei on small trade-offs, chores, sales approaches, and was confident enough to beg for the chance to run tasks alone. Said it was a ”Great opportunity to learn the ropes!”, insisted with practised charisma that it would help teach her to handle herself around Pandorans, and Seifa had wholeheartedly agreed.   
  
She’d been on an errand planetside, picking up some carbon buffers from a friend of a friend when Troy finally _spoke_.

He’d arrived silently to the table for the meal Sei had called into the cabin quarters to let him know would be up soon, and sat slumped, staring down at the food while Seifa tried to fill the heavy quiet with idle chatter as she prepped her own.  
  
”Any word from Tyreen yet?”  
  
_-silence, just the brush of cloth behind her as he shifted in his chair-_  
  
”She’ll be fine you know, been doing _great_ with me, natural liar! Plays them like cards, _heh-heh_ ”  
  
She’d turned to sit with her meal and paused mid-step as she saw the state he was in, at the exhaustion in his expression as he awkwardly hunched over the little table. He looked shattered, scruffy hair framing the dark rings under his tired eyes, staring quietly at the untouched food in front of him. Sei decided it would be worth gambling a _different_ approach as she lowered herself into her seat.

“Ahhh.. sorry Troy” she’d sighed, resting her cheek on her hand as she leaned on the table and tilted her cup towards him in apology. “I’m boring you, huh. My company must be pretty terrible then, I’m getting rusty…”  
  
He’d turned quickly at the theatrically melancholy in her tone and fidgeted as his eyes flickered between hers and the plate in front of him, clearly alarmed and unsure how to respond. She waited, lifting the cup to hide her smile as the _massive_ man in front of her squirmed like a child, before he _finally_ stuttered out a choked:

“N-no. No. It’s not you. You’re .. fine.”  
  
There it was. Now they were getting somewhere, he’d taken the bait exactly as she hoped. Looks like _letting others down_ was a weak point, and she stored that away mentally for the future. 

His voice was softer than she would have expected, crackly from misuse and a still-raw throat, but it was something. Now she had to get him to keep going. She’d flashed a friendly grin at him, eyes narrowing as she beckoned with a finger for him to continue.   
  
He’d turned to the food again, and his shoulders sunk as the worry on his face was replaced with the same sadness from before, hand shaking slightly as he rested it by the plate.  
  
“It’s n-not you. It’s the food. We… we had something like this at _home..”_  
  
He’d paused for a moment then, looking to her shyly for reassurance that it was ok to be talking to her _at all_ , and when he was met with a nod and gentle smile, he started again… and did not stop for **half an hour**.

Everything. Things she would never have imagined asking about, things someone else would consider intensely private, he spilt in one long, shocking monologue.   
  
It felt like he’d been bottling this for god knows how long, and she hadn’t had a _clue_ how to respond as she sat next to him, trying to keep her expression blank and hide how _disturbing_ the things he was calmly explaining were to her.

_Leda, Typhon, Nekrotafeyo, the accident with Tyreen, how dad had just thought him a freak but become overwhelmingly controlling and smothering of Ty after mom, how sick he’d been, how she’d tricked him into coming here and he should have known better but he never seems to learn, how hungry he was deep in his bones all the time, how he desperately didn’t want to be here but can’t leave, how much he loves his sister but doesn’t know what to do, everything._

He’d spoke till his voice was cracking and hoarse from misuse, and that was the only thing that had stopped him from continuing, coughing quietly as he stared at the cold food. If Seifa’s reaction was something he noticed, he wasn’t phased by it, and she’d sat in the terrible silence next to him, struggling to think of what the hell she was _meant to say_.

“That’s rough, buddy.” wasn’t going to cut it. There was no way she could have been prepared for everything he’d just shared so freely, like it was some mundane chat between close friends and not the kind of secrets a _normal_ person would have the self preservation to know not to blurt out to a near stranger. Words were failing her, so she awkwardly extended a hand and rested it above the hollow of his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the ridge of his collarbone in a comforting gesture, and hoped that any kind of reassurance she could offer right now would lessen how vulnerable the moment was.  
  
He’d not reacted, still gazing down at the untouched meal, then timidly cleared his throat and shifted his eyes slowly to meet hers from under his brow.  
  
“I.. I don’t think I can eat this” he’d whispered as his voice hitched nervously. “I’m going to go back to sleep. Thanks though…. S-sorry again.”  
  
He’d stood and nodded gratefully to her, before quietly lumbering out of the room she remained sitting in shock in, the cold coffee still in the cup held by her mouth.  
  
Tyreen had a _lot_ of explaining to do when she got back, and Sei _didn’t_ make it easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	8. Physical traits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

**Troy** :

> \- You can hear the breath struggle through Troy's lungs, always. He's painfully aware of it and has learned to mask the sound around others over time, but when he's sleeping, or relaxed and not in public, or _forgets himself_ while working, you can catch it again.
> 
> \- A very quiet, pained whistle at the fill of each lungful, a strain just before the exhale, like damaged bellows that aren't fully airtight. It's worse when he physically exerts himself, but it's easier to hide then. You can't hear it through panting, or gutteral snarling, but you _can_ hear the struggle to provide enough air for a body far too large for such compromised organs when it is quiet enough, or he thinks he is alone.
> 
> \- He hates it. It's not repairable, none of the damage he keeps to himself is. It's too old, too deep, ~~too deserved~~. He knows a **real** God wouldn't have such an obvious tell, wouldn't have to hide from worshippers that its body was barely able to stay alive.
> 
> \- His markings have such a weak glow they can't be seen unless in complete darkness, and even then it's not a real _glow_ , more like the lingering red you see when you press fingers into your closed eyes. - Sickly. Almost dead, though a fluttering pulse of energy does run along them with his heartbeat, so feeble it wouldn't be visible to the eyes of most.
> 
> \- His tattoos do respond to extreme bouts of emotion by flaring, but it's a static, unhinged electrical sputter. Like a sparking socket, or a dying fuse.

* * *

**Seifa** :

> \- Seifa bleeds easily. Worryingly easily, and bruises like she's made of silk. It's not _dangerous_ , she's checked into it, just a genetic quirk to be aware of, but it can be irritating. Working around machinery leaves most people with the odd nick and scratch, but if she cuts herself it's not "just" a nick. She wears a little more protective gear than the rest of her crew because of it, notably around her hands, and they learned _very_ quickly to not ask about the bruises. They wouldn't believe her anyway.
> 
> \- The first time the twins had noticed this was the norm for her had been hilarious in hindsight. In their first month with her, she'd returned back to the ship the morning after what had initially been planned as a trade meetup had shifted in something a _littttle_ more mutually enjoyable, only to come face to face with a horrified Troy still too unwell to be trying to struggle out of his seat the way he had when he saw her, and an _extremely_ amused Tyreen watching his reaction with glee.
> 
> \- He'd been wide eyed and stuttering , tripping over his words as he tried to ask if she was ok, what had happened, where had she she been, who had _hurt_ her like this? As he franticly gestured at the lines of hickeys running up her neck.
> 
> \- Caught between her and Tyreen's laughter as they shared some kind of unspoken secret through sparkling eyes and cheeky side glances hadn't helped his mood, even when they assured him it was fine. She was fine, god, stop being such an idiot and calm down.
> 
> \- It wasn't funny. He didn't think it was funny _at all_.

* * *

**Tyreen** :

> \- Tyreen feels desperately hungry _all the time_ , but can't sate it physically. Ever since **The Leech** manifested fully when she was 8, her body turned on food. It's not that she doesn't like the idea of eating, or doesn't see platters at weekly banquets in worship of the God Twins that make her mouth water, it's that it has no taste. It has no real definition anymore, she can place it in her mouth, chew, swallow... and there is nothing.
> 
> \- No sense of being filled, no flavor, just emptiness. Like dust. Or sand, or stale air.
> 
> \- She'd tried to explain this to Typhon when she was little, but he had shrugged it off as her being picky, getting fussy. He never seemed to believe her that it wasn't doing anything, that it had no taste, or that it turned her stomach after she ate. He told her she was " _Taking it out_ " on food, as if he thought what had happened with mom was some sort of knot of anger in her chest that she could direct at something external to feel better.
> 
> \- She'd stopped eating anything in the end, and they'd all been silently horrified as it became apparent she didn't even _need_ to anymore.
> 
> \- There are _some_ things that still have echos of tastes now, very strong citrus fruits or heavily spiced cured meats can give her sparks of flavor as she chews, and those tend to be the things you can still rarely see God Queen Calypso pick at in public.
> 
> \- She's asked often about her diet by fans. Interviewers want to know how she stays so trim, how she keeps her skin so clear.
> 
> \- She never answers, just gives the camera a too-wide smile. One that looks like it could _**eat** you alive._


	9. Not him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

**Pre COV**

* * *

He had a different arm at first.

They couldn't afford one of the fancy prosthetics he eyed up in Pandoran streets, the ones that were all smooth lines and functionality. That wasn't _him_ anyway, he knew. When they'd found a trader eager to take on some of the refurb'd weapons they'd managed to scam off the last bandit group they'd bullshitted into thinking they were something _more_ than broken kids, he'd been thrilled when the crusty old junker had offered an old Dahl piece to sweeten the deal.

"Suits you boy, this hole's a shitty place to be tryin' to get by without _half o' ya.._ " - he'd croaked at the twins, and Troy hadn't managed to hide his excitement while Tyreen continued to haggle. It was dented, and rusty, and missing the little finger, but it _worked_ and he owned it now. It belonged to Troy. This was him, and feeling its solid weight in the satchel swung over his shoulder as they walked back to camp churned his stomach with sparks. He couldn't wait to get into its guts, make it **his**.

He'd rigged up a basic neuro connector for it by firelight while they'd camped that night, stayed up for hours while his sister rested in the makeshift shelter next to where he sat surrounded by wires and scrap, cross-legged in the cool dirt. Ty had woken up to hearing him laughing through the sharp silence of the early morning. _Really_ laughing, barking out that hitching, snorting giggle that was so uniquely her twin's as he threw rocks directly above him with his left and caught them effortlessly with his new right.

She'd tossed her blanket around her shoulders and approached him slowly as he played, matching his beaming smile. "Wow, bro, that is amazing. You got it working! You look so _normal!_ "

He didn't catch the rock that time.

* * *

The prosthetic arm didn't even last the week, much to her dismay. She'd really tried too, complimenting him constantly.

> _It worked great! He looked so well! He was balanced out, it really brought attention to the width of his shoulders, how'd they never noticed that before? He was so capable, crazy to think he'd managed without it all this time! He wouldn't be stared at anymore. They'd have better luck converting idiots now that he didn't look so weak at last._

He said it had broken. Muttered that he couldn't repair it, and she'd _believed_ him. A stupid thing for her to trust really, knowing her brother's technical skill...

He'd torn it to pieces.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	10. Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

_Amazing art courtesy of[@lazulizard](https://tmblr.co/mqqm7-idx_Oh34Q_WhItUFQ), saint._

**Theme -** [Spotify link](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fopen.spotify.com%2Ftrack%2F6SAxZVn2L3IsSXf5iQrnwK%3Fsi%3Da7a4PYAuTZuexMgY4j5Img&t=ZWQ5ZjY2MjVkODZjMmNhYmU1YzExOWE3ZjgwZGNiNjM3NzhmM2E2OCxTOTV5dlF5ag%3D%3D&b=t%3AZ6MgHQMBhl2RhpSLMxuPkA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fborder-spam.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F616048419624091648%2Fdo-you-have-any-hcs-abt-leda-like-personality&m=1&ts=1596229175)

**Physical:**

  * Tall, 6ft, and slender build. 
  * Dark skin, pale blue eyes, deep brown hair with touches of ochre.
  * Feline features, slight upwards sloping eyes and full lips.
  * Wavy, voluminous choppy layered hair down to her midback, short layered bangs. Holds it back with a headband and low tie when busy.
  * Geek/Punky aesthetic. Few little chains and piercings, few small tattoos of Eridian sigils and geometrics, things the twins subconsciously carried into their own aesthetics.



**Traits:**

  * Comfortable in herself emotionally and physically, she was the caring, stable adult that offset Typhon’s easily distracted and excitable personality. 
  * Eccentric in her studies, and willing to talk anyone’s ear off about Eridian and Siren lore if they showed a hint of interest when conversing with her.
  * Very slight lisp, and otherwise flawless pronunciation. Came from a highly learned family.
  * She was the black sheep of the Calypsos due to her academic interests, and decided to really just solidify that by eloping with some kind of… _gremlin man._
  * Snorted when she laughed. 
  * Leda was an extremely empathic mother, and the parent that showed the most care and affection.
  * While Typhon worked great as the fun, entertaining, storyteller of the pair, he relied on Leda to do the brunt of the actual _parenting_.
  * Small gap between her front teeth.
  * Excelled in linguistics and spoke multiple languages fluently. Taught the twins the basics of many language cores as they grew, though a lot more of that time was spent with Troy due to his illness and need to stay in bed.
  * Could not cook anything. **Nothing**. Would set fire to water. Could follow a recipe like a rulebook and still end up with raw, burnt food. Typhon could not understand how she had lived as long as she had when they met.
  * Leda was exceptionally slow to anger and was the kind of person to stay worryingly calm in a heated situation. Once she eventually reached her limit, could deliver _viciously cutting_ retorts that would disarm the other party immediately.
  * Musically inclined and had a strong singing voice.
  * Extremely argumentative and tended to talk over Typhon a lot. He was quite submissive to her personality in general, and at times defaulted to being meek around her to a concerning level if he thought her mood was dangerous and it could avoid a disagreement.
  * While very caring to both twins, she ended up giving Troy _far more_ of her time than Tyreen. Not due to preference in any way, simply because Troy was bedridden for so much of his life and needed so much round the clock care that without meaning to, she sometimes left Tyreen starved of attention compared to her brother.
  * She did pick up on this, and did her best to have days where Typhon would care for Troy and she could spend full time with her understandably attention-hungry daughter. 
  * Sadly, more often than not, these days would leave her so concerned over if Typhon was actually meeting their son's needs, that she’d be not as present with Tyreen as she really should have been, which only escalated Tyreen’s deep-set feeling of her mother _preferring_ Troy to her. 
  * This was not remotely true, but in reality, Leda didn’t do enough to make that clear, and it was _Tyreen who suffered for it._
  * Leda was a very tactile person and showed a lot of physical affection to her family. She would absentmindedly run fingers through the twin's hair as she sat in bed with them at night and told them stories of her and Typhon’s adventures, massage sore little limbs, stroke narrow shoulders. 
  * Surprisingly competent at sewing, she crafted most of the children’s clothing from her and Typhon’s old clothes as they grew, including being the person to provide Troy with his first simple leather bracer, to “Keep his soft side nice and safe” on the rare days he had the energy to venture outside and play with his sister. 
  * She died when the twins were 8, and their memories of her are simplified. While they each have different feelings towards her, they never really picked up on some of her negatives as they were too young to fully understand them.
  * Tyreen has a mix of guilt, loss, and confused resentment towards a woman she remembers as craving love from, Troy visualises her as the kindness, reassurance, and loving care he still chases. 
  * They both hold her on a kind of emotional pedestal that they subconsciously compare both other people they are interested in, and _**themselves**_ to. Leda was not the immaculate saint they remember her as, but a flawed, wonderful, _human_ woman.
  * ~~Horrific taste in men.~~



* * *

##  **It makes him smirk to think about it, but he genuinely can’t remember how tall his Mom was.**

In his mind’s eye, she is **huge**. Just this massive, towering woman who’s ribcage the top of his head barely reached, who could pick him and Tyreen up under each arm and swing them while they screeched and wriggled to escape her grip, or could hold Pop’s tools above his head high enough for him to grumpily complain she was being a child as he tried to swat them from her hands.

She was probably just going 6ft, he knows he’d dwarf her now, but remembering her as a _giant_ still makes him laugh. Dad had described her to him as a “Big, strong lady” years later, but _everyone_ was big to Pop, so that didn’t mean shit.

Tyreen insists she is the same height as Mom now, but he’s pretty sure she’s wrong and Leda was a lot taller. Either that or _he’s even more of a freak_ when it comes to his size than he’s willing to admit.

He mostly remembers how gentle she was, because it was such a contrast to how small she made him feel. On the days where he’d have the energy to be antsy, full of complaints that he wanted to go have fun with Ty, how she’d prop him on her hip and carry him outside the ancient vault’s doors to the dusty clearing in front of the entrance that was close enough still to be safe for the twins to play together.

How she’d tell him to lift his arm when she set him down, then carefully tie the cords of the bracer she’d made from scrap leather and cloth around his ribs, sneaking a tickle into his armpit to coax out a giggle, and the warmth in her eyes when he’d smack her hand away and scurry towards his sister.

How _caring_ she was, always questioning how their bruises felt, or cleaning out the grazes on Ty’s knees that she seemed to constantly sport. He’d never felt strange with Leda, he never felt like there was something wrong with his body, just that it’s how things were. He was sick, and he got hurt easy, and part of him wasn’t there, but it was ok. That was just how he was. That was just her little boy.

She used to make a salve that had a scent he hasn’t forgotten decades later, something she’d mash together out of the plants that grew in the cracked wall-face outside the vault. It wasn’t aloe like they had on Pandora, it was something similar but not quite the same. Thicker and viscous, bitter smelling at first, but warming when massaged into skin. He remembers the minty scent it would leave behind once it dried, the sticky tingle of it as it evaporated. She’d always ask how he was _feeling_ , every single night. How his side was doing, was his back sore, did his hips hurt, did his shoulder ache.

Typhon _never_ asked. In hindsight he thinks Pop just never was fully attuned to how much pain Troy’s broken body had caused even as a child, or maybe had just taken for granted that his son could handle it. He couldn’t, really. Mom had always been there to help.

He remembers how it would feel to sit in the gap between her folded legs, listening to Pop tell some story he was making up on the spot while Leda’s strong hands massaged the balm into his scarred side. Pinching, pressing into sore points along his shoulder she knew caused him pain, melting away the pressure and tension from the constantly tightened skin that stretched poorly as he got bigger.

He remembers the frustrating pain of the damage along his right, how he’d want to scratch at it to try and relieve the burning ache of scar tissue unable to shift as fast as his bones insisted on growing, and how she’d lay him across her lap and hush him when it would get too much to bear, running blunt nails over the ridges and _apologising_. Like it was her fault, like _she’d_ done this to him, despite being too weak after their birth to perform the procedure. It had been Pop that handled the knife with no finesse, not Leda, but _she_ was the one who comforted Troy for years after. **She** was the one who was sorry.

He misses those days so much as an adult, despite the sickness. Those years were the weakest he’d ever been, the frailest, but even with all the power he commands now decades later while he stands in front of billions as a God, he’s never felt as _whole_ as he did when Mom was still around.

He’s just hollow now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	11. Inside the beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

As the COV grew within the first 5 years from: _“Fanbase watching live streams_ ” 

to -  
  
 _"Oh god Oh fuck this is a religion now and not just a media empire isn’t it haha uhhhh are we a REAL weapons **manufacturer now**? I mean, we are aren’t we sorta? Shit how does that work, do we need copyright?. Should we be building somewhere for people to live or something?? Followers keep flocking here LMAO god fuck shit, oh man Ty what are we gonn- ….hold on... lol lets make a city”_  
  
The twins rapidly realised there was absolutely 0 chance they were going to be running this on their own. It would be like the head of Maliwan running the entire company singularly. _Plus_ a religion. _Plus_ ten billion rabid followers who want to come worship at your feet and either have sex _with_ you, or pull their own legs off _for_ you, or both at the same time. _Plus_ a galactic pyramid scheme scam hiding behind the universe’s most popular media streaming company. _On their own_.  
  
It was never going to happen, and they came to the same conclusion together; that they were going to need to hand management of a lot of this shit over to people who knew a _hell_ of a lot more than **they did.**

The departments within the COV are numerous and constantly developing. The twins patron departments they have a personal interest in or an affinity for, but don’t manage them directly. That’s managed by the dept heads, The Saints. These are handpicked people either twin has chosen to manage one of their departments in their stead, and report directly to them. It means Troy doesn’t have to have an encyclopedic knowledge of astrophysics in order to keep on top of their Science department, or Tyreen know how to plot upcoming purchase trends to patron the Merch dept. They can leave that to their experts, and handle the info they are provided by them in layman’s terms.

Saints are rarely “worshippers”, the vast majority of them are business people, experts in their fields, or extremely experienced opportunists who saw the same possibilities within the COV as the companies that flocked to offer the twins sponsorships. They don’t see the twins as Gods, they see them as their employers. Employers who will turn them inside out on live stream if they don’t perform as expected.

Each department has at minimum one Saint, with larger ones such as the Church dept having multiples that manage different aspects.

An example of some of the departments and who they report to would be:

**Tyreen-**

  * Merchandise
  * Wardrobe and Makeup
  * Acquisitions
  * Sustenance
  * Marketing - Advertising and growth
  * Branding
  * Sponsorship and product placement



**Troy-**

  * Finance
  * Engineering - Weapons and war-tech
  * Science
  * Church
  * Media
  * Information
  * Security



The twins tend to surround themselves with people they have a connection with in one way or another, Ty’s Marketing and Merch Saints are as loud and flamboyant in their opinions as she likes to be, and she takes delight in seeing them face off against Troy’s somber Tink banker head of Finance when debating budgeting. You can tell quite a lot about each twin by who they choose to put their trust in.

Every Saint bears a tattooed sigil across their back belonging to the twin they report to. While they can vary slightly between each of the department leader Saints, the God Queen’s is always a white skull who’s open maw swallows a Galaxy held within, the God King’s a crimson skull spitting venom from between gilded fangs. 

These tattoos mark their owner as a servant of a Holy Twin, and are a clear warning to both acolyte and heretic that these people are _hallowed_ , and any slight against them will be considered a direct _insult_ to their patron God. 

Wearing a Saint’s sigil while not holding the position results in immediate execution, and they are flayed from the backs of Saints who have disappointed their personal deity. 

* * *

  
The follower tiers within the COV itself, are just one massive MLM system designed to suck every cent out of the fanatics desperate to be close to the gods.  
  
Almost **everything** costs.  
  
Half their streams are gated and can’t be viewed without being _Scum Tier_ , someone who’s on a set subscription weekly ( that can’t be cancelled out of without ending up paying massive amounts of cancellation fees ofc)  
  
Want to have a million to one chance your name will be read out at the end of a stream? _Shit tier. (Troy - “Nice”)_ gives you that incredible opportunity. It only requires you be on a higher level subscription AND donate minimum once per 2 watched streams, great bargain!  
  
There are literally hundreds of tiers, each jumping the requirements from the previous one to a ridiculous level while offering a _slightly_ less insulting tier name, up to Eridium Tier, which couldn’t be afforded bar for people almost as jokingly wealthy as the twins are, and who need to be also bolstering their monetary donations with _raw Eridium_ , or forfeit the role.  
  
People on this tier can request actual, real, direct, face to face meetings with the twins, though the wait time is currently at minimum 9 years for the next open slot. This usually involves travelling to the Holy City and sitting in a dining room packed with armed crusaders as you get to enjoy being within 10ft of the _Gods themselves_ as one of them picks irritably at his meal, and the other talks complete shit _at_ you for an hour.  
  
You might get a word in. You might not. Either way, it’s truly a once in a lifetime opportunity, _**superfan**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	12. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **What is Tyreen’s experience with romance?**

> About the same as a moth’s to a candle flame.

She doesn’t understand what romance is compared to love, or infatuation, or care. Tyreen _feels_ so easily, so quickly and deeply, that innocent interactions can burn underneath her skin like slow poison. She wants to love so badly, she latches onto experiences for _years_ after they happen.

**The first had been a boy a few years younger than her with rich umber skin, and eyes a colour she’d never seen in nature, on Pandora _or_ home.**

> Green like liquor glass, and nearly as sharp as the smile that slit into his cheeks as he locked gaze with her while Seifa and the man he accompanied to this deal argued to their side.
> 
> She was 20 and naïve to a fault. Never _seen_ a boy that wasn’t Troy who’d looked her in the eyes like this. The raw confidence he exuded in waves shook her to the core, and Ty was unsure how she was meant to actually react as she nervously flittered her eyes between him and her distracted companion, too busy growling up into the face of the man who was apparently *not* offering them an acceptable rate to notice Tyreen’s awkwardness. Or maybe she just assumed this wouldn’t be a situation Ty would need her support in, maybe she just assumed Ty was like _other_ people.
> 
> He’d approached her despite her clear unease, mouthing a “Hey” silently as he paused so close she could catch the scent of his fresh sweat in the dry Pandoran air, and reached out a hand to tuck a stray deep brown curl behind her ear… then jolted back like he’d _been burned._ His pained yelp startled their companions out of their barter, and he clutched his blackened fingertips in shock while those green eyes bored into hers, full of something else now. _Fear_ , not confidence.
> 
> She’d turned and ran out of that shack, ignoring Sei shouting her name in concern. Anywhere else on this shit-hole rock was better than staying _there_.

**The second was a year later, when she and Troy were securing a room in a border town to create their “base of operations” together.**

> It was hot, sticky, and intolerable as she sat on that makeshift bench outside the small office her twin was working his magic in behind her, honey thick voice carrying out snippets of him bullshitting the landlord to her as she groaned in the shade, clutching at her throbbing abdomen.  
>   
> Troy was useless for this, he’d had as much education on the topic as _**Typhon**_ had been able to give him, which as expected from a father so desperately incompetent, was complete fuck-all. While he was concerned and empathic whenever her monthly cramps hit, the best he could manage was a hug and some reassurance that they would pick up some painkillers at the next chance.  
>   
> Seifa had helped her so much in the 6 months they’d been together, on the products available, mint teas, anti inflammatories that didn’t turn your stomach, things Leda would have if Leda..  
>   
> Ty squinted into the sun and pulled her heavy hood further over her head, a necessary requirement to hide her markings in public, even if the thickness of it across her shoulders and arms was _smothering_ in this disgusting heat. She didn’t realise that she was no longer alone till the quiet “.. Are you ok?” next to her startled her out of her wandering thoughts.  
>   
> The girl was about her age she thought, sunburned nose and wild blonde hair, thick and greasy in curls that licked the nape of her neck. Her concern was genuine, the turn of her chapped lips worried.  
>   
> “I.. yeah. I’m just um. I.. “ Treen stuttered, turning her head towards the office door, reminding herself of the closeness of her haggling twin.  
>   
> Confidence restored, she returned her attention to the girl, still regarding her with interest.  
>   
> “I’m fine, it’s just _cramps_. The heat isn’t helping, you know how it is… Heh.“
> 
> Realisation sparked in the strangers eyes and with a smile, she reached down into the faded rucksack by her feet, rummaging for a moment, then lifted a small pouch out, gesturing for Tyreen to take it before dropping it eagerly into her open hand.
> 
> ”I have some spare stuff, there you go!” she singsonged, standing stiffly from the bench and dusting off her knees before turning back to the confused Ty with a crooked smile.
> 
> ”We should look out for each other out here, right? That’s what my pop always says. Return the favor to someone else some day ok?” And she left, sauntering out into the burning heat towards the small group of waving people at the edge of the buildings nearby that Ty now realised were the family waiting on her.
> 
> God Queen Tyreen still has that little canvas bag somewhere, deep in the hoard of her quarters.

**The third was a Hag, genuflecting in a crowd of worshippers as The Holy Mother Calypso graced one of the Merchandise department’s factories.**

> Tyreen had strutted along that dirt floor, a deity among rats, letting their fawning praise wash over her like it was lifeblood. Nodding and smiling, waving and posing, taking her place at the podium they’d set for her in the center of the assembly floor they congregated in, clambering below her for a glimpse of their Goddesses _brilliance_.  
>   
> She’d slipped into her rehearsed speech, Troy’s usual flowery nonsense penned perfectly for her dramatic delivery, and let her eyes scan the crowd as she spoke automatically. Bored out of her damn _mind_.
> 
> She’d seen her then, the woman’s massive hulking form so out of place surrounded by the other workers, her huge hands clasped in devotion, the acolytes robe draped across her hunched muscular back barely able to cover her size.  
>   
> She was crippled, kneeling on shaking legs, no longer part of the assault squad her Valkyrie sisters served in. A bullet to the spine months ago had left her unable to lift her ballista anymore, incapable of carrying the God Twin’s fanatics into battle, guts broken and limbs weak, she stared at Tyreen like she was the **Sun**.  
>   
> Like Ty was a Madonna, like she was the Hag’s deliverance, shining above her as a burning effigy of holy light.  
>   
> The love in her lopsided eyes spilled down the woman’s cheeks in tears, and the Queen paused mid speech, _forgetting_ her next line.

##  ** Seifa's first: **

> \- She was 15, and he said she was _amazing_ , when she knew she was mundane. That she was beautiful, when she knew she wasn’t, that she was so clever, when she knew she had so much to learn, and that she wasn't like _other_ girls.. which she hated.
> 
> \- But he was 17 and so she told herself he knew better than her. She was sure this was love, it had to be, because she wanted to _believe_ him. She would, if it meant she could be with him. He said he would take her away from this life, he'd got it all planned out, he'd _rescue_ her and she'd be so _happy_ with him.
> 
> \- She'd write his name over and over on scraps of paper at night, laying in her bunk while her brothers and sisters snored above and around her. Writing his name and her name and how she'd be so happy soon... 'till she found out Karina in the scrap pit was bragging about how she'd be leaving soon, how _she_ was amazing, and beautiful, and clever, and not like _you other girls_.
> 
> \- It's funny, she can't remember his name, but she _can_ remember the exact amount of money in his wallet when Boss handed it over to her after beating the fucking shit out of the little prick and sending him scurrying to the nearest shanty town.
> 
> \- Funny, huh.

##  ** Troy's: **

> \- He was 20 and there were _Seifa's_ hands  in his hair and laughter in her voice and kindness in the touches that flittered across the stark jut of his upper spine as he rested his forehead against her stomach. It was like home. He didn't know what to say, so he said  _nothing_.

> \- He was 21, and the girl was younger than him and was missing a front tooth but her eyes were filled with sparkles, her nose scrunched when she aimed the same feral little grin at him every time she met his eyes across the studio, and his stomach flipped every time he tried to look away. 
> 
> \- "You're that big echonet guy aren't ya", she'd introduced herself with, and he'd stuttered out a confirmation, no ego yet, still only able to just about _pretend_ he was confident when they streamed. - She met him every day at the same time, when whatever basic tasks she'd been hired for were completed, and she'd squint up at him as he sat next to her on the studio floor, and _listen_. 
> 
> \- She wasn't clever, she didn't understand often, but she liked him. He knew she liked him because she told him so, differently each day. Told him he was "pretty cute", told him he "dressed hot", told him "the red makeup lines are really cool on you", till one day she told him to come with her. 
> 
> \- Ten minutes of panicked groping and rutting in the dark of a cramped dresser wardrobe, ten minutes of confusion and lust and feeling her freckled skin against his and being _wanted for the first time in his life_ , and he emerged a new man. 
> 
> \- A REAL man now, at last... and he'd told her everything. How much she meant to him, how happy she made him, how much he loved her. 
> 
> \- She'd paused, staring at him in confusion, then broke into hysterical laughter. 
> 
> \- Long, snorting guffaws, tears in her eyes, and only stopped when she finally saw the pain in his expression. 
> 
> \- "Y.. you're seri ous? Ohhh my god, _dude_. You ain't even a decent fuck." 
> 
> \- He never saw her again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	13. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (TW drug use, gore)
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## Most painful or severe event they’ve dealt with

* * *

##  **Troy -** Mid Cov

  * Snorting something handed to you with no name on it in an orgy by someone you don’t recognise after you’ve not slept in 28 hours is a really bad idea, and the kind of thing he feels like he probably _should_ have known in advance without needing to experience it.


  * The trip was _bad_. Hours ~~minutes maybe, seconds? he’s not sure~~ trapped in your own mind, in an empty ship filled with memories you _very specifically don’t think about_ is a recipe for disaster, and disaster is exactly what happened.


  * Hallucination after hallucination of Mom, Pop, Ty, Sei, faces he knew, faces he couldn’t pull out of the cloying ocean of blood surrounding him as they choked and drowned, not with just _one_ arm. Not when he was so _weak_.


  * _Laughter_ , bubbling up through the purple tar that foamed and drooled from the sneering, galaxy-sized golden fangs that filled the sky above him as they blocked out the moon, echoing in the ravenous pack of snapping gilded jaws that swarmed around him, sinking their teeth into flesh and bone as they laughed, tearing muscle as they called him false God, while they whispered that _they **knew who he was**_.


  * If the Saint who dragged him out of his washroom bloodied and screeching after they burst into his Sanctum _saw_ what he’d done to his right side in his confusion, they’ve never said. Just gave a him a gentle eye through their bloodstained mask and told him he’d “Be ok, boss. Just get that shit out of you. You’re alright..”. His Aegis, trying as always to shield him from the horror they saw reflected in his blown pupils.


  * It took weeks to heal. He’d torn into the skin and scarring with his nails during the trip in some kind of mix of self-destructive hatred and _terror_ , and he couldn’t fit the bracer over till it sealed. He tried, but the pain was so intense he couldn’t walk without wincing, too obviously in discomfort to hide from curious eyes. For Troy, who can barely _register_ pain, to be that fucked by it? Well, lesson learned. It really had been a _bad_ idea.



##  **Seifa -** Pre Cov

  * Sei took great pride in putting her money where her mouth was till she got stabbed over it, and it wasn’t even a GOOD stab. It wasn’t one of those ones where you bleed out and get to be dramatic and have last words while making a scene. It was a sneaky, cowardly, weak little stab that she’s not sure how she survived.


  * She was 22, and at the pinnacle of her inflated self-confidence. Out at a late night deal in Promethea with some slum traders she underestimated, and not enough eyes on her back.


  * She’s not sure if it was the snarky tone of her counteroffer or how she tried to square up to someone twice her size, all predatory grin and flirtatious side-eye, but he hadn’t liked it. An upwards pointing knife just under the base of her ribcage had been her payment for getting _too close_ and _far too_ full of herself.


  * He’d laughed as he slipped it out, smirking at her as he turned to leave with his companions. Completely nonchalant, like nothing had happened even while the colour drained from her face and the pressure inside her chest bloomed. Each shuddering breath out and she could feel air sucking in through the wound, could feel the intense struggle fill her lungs after.


  * She’d stood for 20, 30 seconds, gasping quietly as her “protection” continued to shout insults at the trader’s backs, not even realising his employer had just been shanked till Sei had blacked out and crumpled to the ground like a doll.


  * She woke up in one of Promethea’s fancy medic bays facing a tired, irritable doctor, and a debt she _really_ would have preferred not needing to pay. He’d missed her lung by an inch and pierced her diaphragm. If she hadn’t had a hired thug with her, she’d have choked to death in that alley. Guess he’d been worth his fee in the end.



##  **Tyreen** \- Early Cov

  * Got straight up disembowelled once, funny story! Second year on Pandora and their small war party had faced _slightly_ more resistance than expected while assimilating a minor bandit camp into the family. She doesn’t remember _pain_ per se, she heals too fast for most pain to really register, but she remembers the sound of the slice, and the sudden bizarre loss of strength in her stance as her stomach muscles lost tension.


  * Troy screaming “ _Tyree-OH FUCCCCKKK!!!??_ ” and the look of horrified disgust on his face as she glanced to her right and met his eyes was the next thing she remembered, then echoing his statement with as much fervour when she looked down to see ropes of intestines and something _large and flat and much darker red_ than she was expecting sliding freely out of her lower torso.


  * She grabbed the writhing wet mass and just… pushed it back in, half wanting to laugh, half wanting to pass out at the sensation of the sucking flesh sealing around her hands as the bandit holding the machete stood in complete shock inches in front of her.


  * The wound closed within a second of pulling her hand out of her open stomach, and she’d taken a pause to really appreciate the humour of the moment before husking him. The burst of energy that surged from her body and into her own immediately sated the hunger deep in her gut that the healing had caused, and helped make sure she doesn’t even have a scar to remember it by.


  * She wonders sometimes if she actually… fit… everything back in right, but it’s not like she eats much anyway. No harm. Was kinda cool to be honest. Your insides feel really _hot_.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	14. God King's bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> E RATED - (tw: consensual sexual violence - body worship/sacrifice - drug orgy)

** E RATED **

(tw: **_consensual sexual violence - body worship/sacrifice - drug orgy)_**

* * *

##  **_With Followers Mid/Late COV -_ **

  * God King Calypso is known for **breaking** his playthings.
  * It doesn’t stop them flocking to him, in fact if anything he’s noticed it attracting a _certain type_ even more so. The ones who **want** the scars.
  * He’d always had no problem slaking his thirsts. Years of being too disgusted by the heaving masses of the COV followers to touch them has slowly rotted over time into being _too disgusted by himself_ to feel his own skin under his hand, so he lets them do so instead.
  * A flash of golden canines in a grin that cuts through the club’s smoky dark is all it takes generally. He frequents the drug dens and sordid nightspots of the Holy City often, and they can sense what Father Troy is there for. Taste it in the sweat tinged air.
  * Sometimes solo, sometimes in groups, it’s not something that’s discussed. They either say yes and follow him to the Vanguard flanked custom technical outside, or they turn down the unspoken offer politely. A snarky response before they've turned and realised who they are speaking to? Time to grovel. **Desperately**. He’s not cruel but he’s monstrously vain, and an insult towards him under his audience’s watching eyes is an invitation to have your head twisted off before you get to apologise.
  * It’s not an enjoyable experience. They aren’t there to have a good time, or walk away unscathed. Sometimes he doesn’t even go looking, just splays himself across his golden throne next to his sister and _chooses_. There are enough worshippers in the Grand Cathedral nightly who want to offer him their souls and blood and lives alongside their flesh, that he doesn’t _need_ to leave his citadel.
  * He can let them come to him, though personally he prefers not to. The chase is part of the hunt after all, and he doesn’t find these nights _quite_ as satisfying as when he tracks the prey himself.
  * Scarred, burned skin, missing limbs, the broken, the beautiful, **they, she, he,** Troy doesn’t care.
  * He’s never cared because who they are means absolutely nothing. All bodies are delicious. It’s the sensation that he wants, the carnality. Flesh against flesh, worship, _adoration_. If it’s towards him and the monster he wears like a mantle, so be it. It’s still the same relief. It’s still comfort.
  * They don’t need names or faces or stories. It doesn’t matter who they are or want to offer him, the mouths that suck the salt from his skin feel the same no matter who owns them, the give in their flesh just as satisfying when he tears it apart, whoever it’s wrapped around.
  * They'll never have his real attention, there's no eye contact, no talking, he’ll grin too wide and groan too obscenely at praise given towards him but it will never be reciprocated. They're there to feed the beast after all, not be taken in by it.
  * They're here to be desecrated by everything he hates about what he’s become, and _thank him for it afterwards._
  * No prep, no care, no effort made in the slightest towards anyone’s pleasure bar his own. The people surrounding him are meat and texture, heat and touch, he does. Not. Care. Not about a single one of them. He could tear out a throat mid rut and not even break pace, he won’t so much as recognise any of them again, they aren’t even _being seen_ in the first place.
  * Drugs and the deep bass of the music thrum through their bones in Troy’s den, his chambers are inky black but the blue smoke that caresses across their skin will capture the dim lighting in bursts of colour and lines they aren’t sure are holy or hallucinations. It could be both, considering the flares of red light dribbling from the loops and whorls that paint his arm and leg. If they see wings, best to pretend they didn’t. It’s not a blessed sign, he’s _**nothing sacred.**_
  * Blood is lube, it’s enough, if they can’t _take him_ they shouldn’t _be here and should leave_. His piercings stimulate yet rub raw, there is terrible pain in the waves of pleasure he’ll tease from their desperately willing bodies and the unwritten contract he’s snared them in. Please _him_ , praise _him_ , worship _him_ , and if they satisfy him enough in soul and skin he _might_ hold back. Maybe.
  * He is utterly self-focused, any action he takes is for his own satisfaction and not anyone else’s. If he’s under them, they are not in control, thrusts _too_ hard and metal fingers crunching into their hip bone even as he pants and whines for their approval. If he’s over them then they'd better pray to a more merciful God that they won’t have fractures and tears after. It’s rare people manage to walk out steadily.
  * Troy’s mouth is a weapon of his own design, the only kisses are vicious and starved, lips bitten bloody and a tongue too long and too sharp to be used the way he does, forcefully and without care. It’s not nice. It’s not pleasant, but he’s the God King and this form of worship is the only real hymn he accepts. This is the only act of love they can offer that he will tolerate, even though he _returns none of it._
  * His teeth are razor sharp and the maw slathers as he loses himself in the sensation, the sound of slapping flesh and whimpering moans. If he’s a deity then he must be a **monster** of one, nothing _right_ looks likes this, drooling in ecstasy as its face slides open and the slithering length of his modded tongue coils over gilded fangs.
  * He’ll suckle breasts too hungrily with a mouth filled with knives, pump cocks too eagerly with a fist of jagged iron, and they'll come, but they'll never for a moment feel safe, and it's the exact thrill they are there for. They won’t for even a second truly _enjoy_ his administrations. They are giving him an offering after all. They are **not** being blessed.
  * Men are fine, solid planes of shivering muscle is good, but sinking his teeth into soft, plush thighs or the round cushion of a woman’s ass has a specific feel to it he’s always found salivating. Especially the _noises_ they make. He’s attracted to aspects he sees as masc and as fem equally but he treats them differently in the act. Some deep-set issues he’d refuse to speak of if provoked.
  * He dominates those he sees as masc, wants them to whimper under him as he fills and breaks them, wants to snarl down at their pleading faces as they jolt hard from each snapping thrust. He’s bigger, and stronger, and better. He’s more of a man than they are. Do they understand?? He’s _more_.
  * But he wants to _crawl inside_ those he sees as fem, and he is _too big a being_ to fit into the ribcage of someone so much more delicate than him, too heavy and crushing to lay cradled in their hips with their heart against his cheek, no matter how hard he snaps and rips to _make room._
  * He wants to feel the people he beds _from the inside_. There is no mercy, there is never gentleness. His fingers are long and thicker than they look, and he’ll take and take till they have nothing left to give him bar their desperate pleads as he stretches them open and ignores the quivering of muscles too tight for his administrations, but don’t do it. Don’t beg. Don’t sob through the waves of rapture and agony, it’ll only make it worse. It’ll only make him **hungrier**.
  * God King Calypso _breaks_ men, but he _tears women apart_ , and the hushed warnings muttered through the understaff of the cathedral warn that his bite is far worse than his bark.
  * Masked acolytes with inhuman jaw marks scarred across their chests and knees they can’t put weight on, whisper for them **to think first.** They beg for them to know _what_ they are getting into before they make the offer, not that they regret it, they just want to be clear. To understand that the marks his latest worshippers get to wear with pride may not be _worth_ the price they pay. They warn to be sure first, or to leave if there is a change of heart. He will let them leave. He only wants those _who want to be there._
  * His Majesty is _ravenous…_ plenty don’t survive the night. 




	15. Irritants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** Seifa: **

Sycophants. Asslickers are _everywhere_ in the COV. She’s gone from faking being one herself on and off throughout the years for personal gain or to manipulate a deal, to being constantly surrounded by ones sucking the twin’s dicks or _sometimes_ going for her own. It’s sickening because she knows exactly why they are doing it. She completely understands, but she’s at the point in her life where she will never need to do it again, and just cannot bare to be around that stomach turning _sliminess_.

Talk straight to her, or give a sly wink mid buttering up a colleague. Let her know YOU know you’re talking bullshit to get what you want, and she’s far more tolerable of it. She might even join in and wingman you. It’s a game then, it’s fun. The people who insist it’s genuine are the ones she cannot _stand_.

##  ** Troy: **

Doctors. He hates.. **hates**.. doctors.

He knows damn well it’s because they represent lack of control over his body. They’ve been a necessity almost from the day they landed on Pandora. Sei had dragged a medic she knew personally (who would keep what they found in her ship off the record), to see him a week into recovery with her, and he has never, ever forgotten the way that man _looked_ at him.

He had to show him _everything_. Had to describe how his body felt, if there had been blood in his piss, if it hurt to breathe, if his abdomen was tender to the touch, things he would never want anyone to know, he’d _had_ to share. The man had regarded him like a specimen of something grotesque, the same way you balk at a 2 headed calf in formaldehyde, or an infant born without a brain.. he’d wanted to slap his hands away, scream at him to stop _touching_ , but he couldn’t. Too tired, too weak, too afraid, he’d just.. let it happen. He knew it was for his own good, but he never forgot what it felt like to be a specimen in the eyes of someone morbidly intrigued by his body.

The reliance on medics never stopped. If anything, it’s become worse over the years. He’s got a very small team of extremely narrow lipped staff who understand confidentiality ( and what would happen to them if they didn’t ), that he keeps on payroll and off the internal COV rosters. They’ve seen things no one else has, bar people so incredibly close to him that he views them as family. They take marrow and semen, bloods, heart rates and hormonal reads, then send him reports that are direct and specific. They NEVER comment on what they notice, on the state of his body when the mantle of the God King is stripped and he’s bare and broken under their hands.

He hates it. He hates them. He knows they keep him alive, sometimes he wishes they wouldn’t.

##  ** Tyreen: **

_Everyone_. She doesn’t know when it changed, when she went from genuinely enjoying the company of others in some way, to just... this.

She loathes them. All of them. Her brother, her Saints, her desperate, disgusting followers, she hates every single one of them but still _craves_ their attention… She wants to peel her skin off and scream when she feels this way, sink under the water of the bath she’s laying in and be crushed in the darkness of the weight above her.

Why is it like this, what is _wrong_ with her. She can remember being happy, she can remember that sensation, but it’s so _thin_ now. It’s like smoke. She can’t hold it in her hand anymore, just barely glance it with her fingertips as it grows further away every day, fuzzier, harder to recall in the warmth behind her eyes.

Maybe she knows it’s The Leech consuming her cell by cell. Maybe one day she won’t be Tyreen at all, just a husk, with a squirming galaxy-sized parasite filling her empty shell, forcing her limbs to move and her mouth to speak and sneer. Wouldn’t that be apt. Wouldn’t that be right, to go the same way Mom did.

She hates her too, Leda. **_Hates_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	16. A brother (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## Jak-Knife belongs to the amazing **[@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw) on Tumblr, who also writes Leech Lord canonical content**

* * *

### \- Mid COV -

* * *

“Ahh.. - _fuck_ -“ Sei snorts between her hands as she winces, cupping her nose. “…Oh.. It’s _you_.”

She’d stepped out of Troy’s Sanctum ship’s mag-locked blast doors and _directly_ into the solid flesh of his personal bodyguard, the perfect ending to her already rough night.

Jak-Knife says nothing, shifting slowly to the side politely to let her past.

“Why are _you_ here anyway it’s.. it’s like 3am.” she groans, pinching her nose and wiggling the bridge a little. “Don’t you have, em..uhh” snapping her fingers in concentration as she groggily looks down at her feet. “ _Vanguard!_ Yeah, vanguard to do it? Thought you lead his protection department”.

”… I do.“ JK replies, unsure if they should be speaking to the Mechanicum’s Saint without reason to do so, especially when she’s obviously a little drunk considering the way she’s wobbling in front of their heavily muscled frame.

They stand in silence for a moment, JK staring down through their Bandit mask’s UV lenses at the tiny woman eying them suspiciously, clearly not impressed with their answer.

” _I’m_ awake.” they continue. “Vanguard’s not, **he’s** not.” they point a blunt finger at the reinforced titanium door behind her. “I watch out while he can’t. That’s what I’m _for_.”

She sniffs, glancing over her shoulder at the massive Skag skull looming above the entrance. “Pal… I don’t think protecting _this_ door is necessary. I figure you could guard him just as well from inside. C'mon.” she offers, pressing her wrist against the DNA scanner by the door and watching as it reads her pulse and signature.

“.. I owe you for the necklace anyway.” The smirk she aims at them is joined by a wink, and she gestures for them to enter as the door hisses open.

JK pauses a second, flexing and relaxing a heavy paw by their hip, then steps forward and passes by her with a nod. “That was repayment” they gruff. She snorts a husky chuckle and steps through after them into the dark of Troy’s quarters, jogging past to kick the God King’s discarded boots out of their way as she guides them toward the kitchen.

“Nah, I tinkered with a broken shield. YOU. You _made_ something for me in return, turned scrap into a beautiful locket I still wear often. Big difference. Biiiig, biiiiig difference.” she chirped, waggling a finger over her shoulder at them chidingly.

“Take it you’ve seen his “ _Holy Chambers_ ” before?” she piqued, waving her arm grandly around the mood-lit quarters before placing her finger over her lips and pointing in the direction of the wheezing, quiet snores emanating from **Troy’s silhouette** in the darkness, a heap of limbs and furs splayed across the curved couch recessed into the rec area in the center of his ship.

JK’s voice drops to a cracking whisper as they pad after her, wary of waking the God King. “Yeah. Plenty of times. Bring him back here if he’s not too good, help him with projects when he needs the extra hand and won’t admit it. Been here lots.”

“No need to be quiet.” Sei calls back louder than they expected, pulling out a chair for them by the glossy black kitchen’s small table. “You’re not gonna wake him. He’s floating through _another reality_ right now, hah” she laughs, pulling open the fridge and reaching in to grab a couple of beers.

“No idea what he took. Only had a couple and he got weird, said he needed to sleep, something about knees tryin’ to eat him or some shit.” Jk nodded knowingly, graciously taking the bottle she offered before she slid into the seat facing them, rubbing at the dusting of mascara under her eye.

“Eh, don’t usually like people seeing me this messed up, Jak-Knife” Sei sighed, slumping a little further in her seat as she popped the lid off her bottle with the shaped edge of an angular bangle around her wrist. “You don’t seem the sort to gossip though, am I right?”

JK grunted a laugh, twisting the top off their own brew with a bare hand. “No. Waste of breath. You look like **you** , anyway. Just less paint.” They lift their mask to take a swig from the bottle, just enough to slide it to their lips.

“Appreciate it then, keep my lack of paint between us.” Sei smirked, leaning forward to prop her cheek in her hand as she rested an elbow on the table, eying them coyly. “You’re.. you’re loyal, but you’re not a believer, _are_ you.” She offered, narrowing her eyes a little as she gestures at their bare chest.

“The vanguard are covered in tattoos and scars, seen one with his snakes _carved_ into their stomach, like they want to _be_ him” she grimaces, taking another drink. “You got nothin', so your loyalty’s from somewhere else then, right? They don’t make _Saints_ out of blind followers..”

JK nodded. “Nothin on the outside, no. Don’t need it, grip he has on me is on the inside. Stronger, ready to rip my spine out if it needs. Would happily let it for a brother.”

Seifa nods slowly, understanding. “Family.”

“Family.” they echo. “Watched one burn. Pandora’s like that. Either burn alongside them or get walking. Pick yourself up or wait for the rakks” - they point at the ceiling, Seifa watching quietly as they continue.

“Walked and kept goin', didn’t look ahead, feet know what they’re doin' by now. Sand can _call_ you in this place. Walked into the COV. Walked to him ”- they nod towards the shadows to their right, and the recessed couch, the soft breathing trailing from it.

“It felt like family again, or the seeds of it. Same blood and bruises, _he_ just keeps his hidden under steel. I don’t need steel. I can be the strong one so he doesn’t have to pretend.”

She’s nodding, looking at her hands as she tilts the bottle thoughtfully, JK appreciates that she’s clearly _listening_ and not interrupting them.

“You though..” they lift the bottle towards her. “I don’t get _you_. Nothing against you lady, but there’s something off. This place, this planet, this isn’t your bones, is it. Why are you here?”

She breathes out a sigh, leaning back and resting her head on the edge of the chair, flittering her eyes between the dim spotlights in the kitchen area’s ceiling. “Same reason. Exact same reason.”

“I figure we might have a bit more in common than I would have thought the first time I saw you prowling behind him. You’d think I’d know by now to stop assuming based on appearances, huh. God..” She shifts forward again, tired eyes peering into the lenses of their mask, searching for the glint of their own.

“I’m just a bit shook up…” her voice cracks as she mutters. “He said some stupid shit tonight, bout how everyone leaves him and he knows it’s..” she sighs, letting her head drop to face the table with a weak shrug.

“Stupid as in.. it got to me. He ever say anything to you that’s just.. you know it’s _off_? I sometimes think it’s me..”

JK waited patiently, wanting to reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder but not quite knowing if that would overstep their tentative friendship as it formed.

“…that I’m going crazy and feeling things that aren’t real, overreacting…” she pauses, swiping her auburn hair back from her forehead, thumbing at her temple as she lets her eyes stare unfocused at the wall behind their shoulder.

JK grunts thoughtfully, then shakes their head a little, their mask tilting downwards as they rumble out a huff of air. “He’s… _talking_ a lot more recently, yeah, bout things no one asked.” 

They empty the bottle in a deep dreg, and lower it carefully to the table in front of them, spinning it slowly on its edge. “Like he’s replyin’ to a question that was never said, and he’s _pissed_ about it. Gets snappy at nothin’. Gets angry at _nothin’_. I don’t say things, I just listen. He likes when you just listen, I think you know that too.”

She nods, watery eyes looking up at them through her thick eyelashes.

“It’s just, the thing’s he’s saying now, this last year?” JK glances to their side again, towards where Troy sleeps.

They turn back to Seifa and reach out then, touching a finger against her forearm as it rests against the table, happy to see she doesn’t flinch away even though she’s hurt too _._ Proud that though she’sstruggling to hold back tears that swell along her lash-line, she’s still listening to them. Really listening, like what JK thinks _matters_.

“It’s the same kind of things axe-hands I knew in the clan would start to say before they’d go wrong. Harsh things to themselves, about themselves, about how _others_ were seeing ‘em. I don’t like that kind of talk much either, I’ve seen where it goes. People start doing that and they aren’t themselves for much longer. Become the same thing they were worryin’ everyone _already_ saw them as.”

They turn the bottle to its side, idly twirling it with their index finger, only the hollow grind of the glass on the table filling the silence. 

“I’ve seen him goin’ the same way. Same way _they_ did, and I don’t know how to stop it, I’m not good with..” they gesture at the bone-white mask still marked with that crumbling splash of old rust-red blood, pausing to collect their thoughts. “..Not good with talking the way it would help. Saw him hurt acolytes the last few months. He used to just grab, threaten…”.

Their leg bounces beneath the table, nerves firing haphazardly as they swallow down the frustration lodged between their teeth. “Now he _grinds_. Cracks their bones in that metal fist. Not enjoyin’ it, not laughin’, but doin’ it anyway. He smells like bitter antiseptic sometimes, and I think he’s takin’ things out on himself where he figures we won’t know, **under** the steel.”

“I don’t think he is well. _Inside_ him. None of us are here, lady. We’re all broken a little, but we learn how to live with it. It’s that or die. He doesn’t _know_ how to do it. We gotta…”

“… we gotta watch out for _our brother_ ”.


	17. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## Negotiations - **Guest writer[](https://godkingsanointed.tumblr.com/post/621672452157816832) [godkingsanointed](https://godkingsanointed.tumblr.com/post/621672452157816832)**

###  **\- Mid COV-**

Seifa in full bargaining mode was a sight to behold. She'd wrapped so many loops around the guys in front of her they'd have trouble telling up from down for a week. They'd started out thinking they were going to bleed as much from her as possible for parts she had assessed beforehand as passable stopgaps at best. They'd gone through the stages of grief since then, and if JK was understanding things right they were now discussing how much these shady fuckers were going to donate to the COV's engineering department? God damn genius, even if their head was spinning just listening. This hadn't even been a formal arrangement, they'd interrupted her while she was headed for a drink after work and she'd pulled JK in to watch her back as they passed on patrol. They assumed the rude timing was why she was working them so hard but damn if it wasn't impressive.

The settled donation amount was hefty and would sting these scammers for a while to come, so JK personally escorted them from the bar before tempers flared. They had been too dazed for aggression so they'd not really needed to be there, but better safe than sorry. Once JK made sure they'd gone, Seifa called them back, drink in hand. "For the trouble" she grinned, receiving a grunt of thank you in response. "That...was like watching someone beat a skag at chess." Seifa laughed a little, taking a sip before she spoke. "At least a skag won't target you just for your tits" her tone was a little darker there, frustrated. JK nodded solemnly taking a drag themself. "Good thing I can kill more than just skag huh? Say the word, and they don't leave this city." She laughed again, a tinge of nerves to it. They knew it was a line she didn't want to cross but hoped the offer of support made her feel better. "I'll keep it in mind."

* * *

“Fantastic!” Seifa beamed through a smile so fake that JK swore they could see it _through_ the back of her head. “I think we’ve come to an amicable deal!” she congratulated the two men smiling down at the petite woman like a pair of Rakks eying fresh roadkill.  
  
She closed her eyes, placing her hands over her heart theatrically “Your gracious donation _won’t_ be forgotten”. Their grins shrivelled as they glanced at each other, and Jak-Knife wondered if they had realised what was happening yet, the idiots.  
  
She bounced back into her act, waggling a finger at the man on her right as she gave him a suggestive wink “I _knew_ you were loyal followers of the Twin Gods as soon as you introduced yourselves, considering you _interrupted two Saints clearly mid private conversation_ in the first place… “  
  
There was panic on their faces now in place of the earlier confidence as their brains started to piece together what they’d just walked into and what was coming next, and JK felt the burn in their lungs as they tried to remain stoic and hold in the laughter, looming behind Seifa as she continued to play the men.  
  
“I mean, boys..” she sighed dramatically, shaking her head sadly. “The _only_ reason to do that would be to make an offering to the Gods, right? Unless you had some kind of, oohh I don’t know… a **death wish..**.” JK nodded sagely as they raised their arms across their chest, giving the men an intimidating eyeful of flexing muscle, while also desperately trying to hide the shudders of giggles running through their ribcage.   
  
Sei was loving this, they could tell from every line of how she held herself, the practiced pitch of her voice, _disgustingly bubbly_ and out of character. This was her zone, her element. She was milking it for all it was worth, and JK figured it something they’d be laughing about for weeks after together.

“I’ll make sure God-King Calypso is personally aware of your names and trade ID’s in case he ever wants to express his own brand of, uh... **gratitude** for your kindness… so-” she flipped her EchoDev out of her hip satchel like a pocket knife, expertly opening and activating it in one smooth motion as she brought it forward, tapping into her scheduler.  
  
“- When can I expect the pallets to arrive exactly? My esteemed colleague here will have a Vanguard waiting… Oh, and I’m _sure_ it goes without saying of course, but you’ll _be covering delivery_ ”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	18. Not unbreakable (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drug use.
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

###  ****

### \- Mid COV - 

****  
She could make out the muffled conversation through the pounding in her head just enough to know _he_ was pissed, and the medic team were _very_ worried. She couldn’t understand what they were discussing exactly, but the rapid muttering of what they were sharing with Troy as they surrounded his towering silhouette said enough.

The whole thing was stupid, she was fine. She’d been fine yesterday, she’d been fine 8 hours ago, and she was still fine _now_. Just tired… and maybe it was just a little hard to move.. or breath… but she was still _fine_ , there wasn’t any need for any of this pointless babying. There were projects to run, engineers waiting for their next orders, she should be in the Mechanicum and not lazing around here on this clinic bed. She was _fine_.

The medics must have finished reporting to the fuzzy shape of Troy, because she heard him growl something distinctly threatening, followed by the obvious scurry of multiple people trying to leave a room all at once while pretending to be completely calm, _probably_ jamming together in the doorway in their hurry.

She’d laugh if she could watch, but it was hard to see what was happening right now when everything was so… _wiggly_. Shame, she thought, futilely trying to blink the blur out of her eyes as the room swam around his approaching outline.  
  
As he got close enough to come into focus, her feverish brain managed to recognise how bad a sign it was to see him in public wearing his glasses and a dark tank top with baggy pants, instead of his _costume_.

Lowering to a crouch beside the bed, he hunkered down till they were almost at eye level, and she’d _really_ rather he didn’t look at her that way. Grim. _Angry_. A little sad. Pity never suited Seifa, and helplessness straight up clashed with her.

“T-this is pointless..” she wheezed, throat burning. “I’m f-fine Troy, it’s a flu.. this is a waste of everyone’s time.”

“Yellow flu” he replied, emotionless in tone as his eyes moved down her shivering outline under the blanket, laying on her side as she faced him. “Yellow flu, you _stupid_ , stubborn bitch.”

She felt a pulse of righteous anger at that and stirred to insult him straight back, but a wave of nausea decided to close her mouth instead. Grimacing against the churning pain in her stomach, she comforted herself that she’d slap him if she wasn’t so tired… and maybe if he didn’t sound so _worried_.

Sei coughed weakly, attempting to strike up the barter again. “It’s nothing serious enough for all _this_ , people get flu every year, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” he countered, turning to squint at the bag of saline hanging next to the machinery at the side of her bed, wrinkling his nose at the steady drops of the drip counter. Her fevered mind logically concluded he was angry at med equipment. He’d always been an idiot, it was an inanimate object. She’d have to remember to tell him he was stupid later, when it was easier to think and she could move her arms again.

“For God’s sake” she groaned, wishing she could muster a little more intimidation in the voice she was trying to argue him down with, hard to fake confidence when your tongue refused to work right. “There’s too m-much that needs doing, Troy”. He ignored her, still quietly considering the line leading from the saline to the back of the open hand laying in front of her. “There’s that new shipment of titani-”

“Ersh and Kiera are on it” he cut her off, turning back to meet her eyes in calm challenge.

She felt like a scolded child, furious, even as the spike in her blood pressure made both the room spin around her and Troy suddenly blend into the cool shadows lurking behind his back. Time to pull her ace in the hole, desperate times called for desperate measures.

“T.. Tyreen. Tyreen wants.. that .. recall of the..”

“Seifa” he hushed, leaning forwards and resting his elbow on the edge of the bed as his mech arm trailed below it “… **I’ll** handle Tyreen”.

That, _that_ shocked her. It dawned then that this was serious. _That_ was very unexpected, she wasn’t sure what the next move was for once. He’d swept her legs out from under her, and she felt like she was stumbling forwards in the dark now. He wasn’t just talking shit or trying to argue with her out of stubbornness like usual, it _wasn’t_ one of their stupid games… was it.  
  
This was real then, and the rising fear in her chest crushed it even tighter as she panicked, coughing hard against the pull in her lungs. He waited with her for it to pass, brushing sweaty hair out of her face as she heaved in air between shuddering hacks.

“Sei” he whispered when she was able to breathe again, watching her bruised eyelids flutter closed in exhaustion. “What do **I** do? You’re not meant to ever be _sick,_ or hurt _.._. I don’t know how to fix you…”

If she caught the crack in his voice, she didn’t show it, too lost in the fever and breathing heavily, hoping the deep lung-fulls of cool air would help quell the burning in her chest. “Tell me... about Nekrotafeyo..” she finally managed to rasp through what felt like layers of sand grinding in her throat.

Too worn out to open her eyes, she didn’t get to see how his face lit up or how the worry lines melted away at that request, but she _did_ get to feel the bed shift a moment later as he carefully climbed onto it to sit next to her, and the sudden burst of embarrassment that jolted through her confused brain as the cold steel of his mech arm slipped under the sheet and lay flat against the sticky skin of her burning hot back and side.

A twinge of surviving logic reminded her he couldn’t _feel_ anything he was touching, that there was no reason to be embarrassed by the gesture regardless of if she was _pretty_ sure she was currently naked, and she should focus on the pleasant chill instead. On how much of the biting heat running through her bones was extinguished by the metal he was pressing along the length of her aching body.  
  
A crooked smile played across her chapped lips as the prosthetic’s blessedly cool fingers curved across her bare hip under the thin covers, and he rumbled a quiet laugh at the relief on her face. “Is _that_ better then?”

”… yeah..“ she whispered gratefully, pressing her forehead against the side of his thigh. He smelled like dirt and sandalwood, fresh sweat and gun oil. She could _sleep_ here, she reassured herself. It was _fine_. It was safe to let herself be weak, just for a _little_ while. No one else would know.

"Well..” he sighed, resting his head against the wall behind the bed as he removed his glasses, folding them in his lap.

“The first thing you gotta understand about Nekrotafeyo, is it was very, _very boring_ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	19. Family found (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drug use.
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **Guest writer** \- [](https://godkingsanointed.tumblr.com/post/619858734219411456) [godkingsanointed](https://godkingsanointed.tumblr.com/post/619858734219411456)

### \- Early COV -

"Fuckshitfuck-" Troy was pacing back and forth, angrily kicking at the dirt. He'd insisted on a detour to a ruin he'd seen, when the twins fledgeling entourage was ambushed by an army of Skags. He'd fallen from the holy outrunner and dragged his bodyguard with him as Tyreen had gunned for their escape. Most of the Skags had bolted after her and the small cluster of outrunners *meant* to protect them, the rest they'd fended off.

Jak-knife motioned for him to come sit with them, seemingly not rattled. Once he did, they held up medical supplies for his small wounds and waited for permission to get to work. The God-king was particular about this kind of thing, but there were wounds he couldn't reach and fresh blood would draw more predators. He grunted confirmation but looked away, focusing on the busted mechanical arm. He'd ran out of ammo quickly and had to resort to using it as a melee weapon. He ripped it from his bracer in frustration, throwing it across the dirt.

"We should get you like, a blade or something. Axe? Knife? Something nasty." Jak-knife was trying to give him a thought to focus on as they finished up, having done their best not to fuss or touch too much. They had touch issues too so they knew how it was. He seemed less irate as the adrenalin faded. Good. Time to keep him busy through the crash. "Ok boss. It'll be dark soon the next catch a ride is a days hike. Time to camp." An absent-minded grunt from Troy in response.

A speciality of Pandoran bandits is hacked massively expanded digistruct storage, and Jak-knife never travelled without supplies. They pulled out everything they needed a bit at a time. Materials for a makeshift shelter, generator, a small electrified perimeter to hook up to it, etc. They handed the generator and perimeter to troy to set up, handling the shelter with practised ease. They could hear him start to perk up commenting on its ramshackle design, chuckling a little at...unconventional fixes.

Once he was done he sat back, a brief moment of pride that he'd set it up and fixed it a little. "This looks like the way my dad fixes stuff, half tape and luck." After the rest of the work was done, Jak-knife came over to pass him a water bottle. "Is that a good thing?" Troy was quiet for a second, choosing his words. "Guess not, function and survival is Pandoran *thing* I guess." This was the first time he'd mentioned Typhon to anyone not blood related aside from Seifa, who now he thought about it, was no doubt ready to kick his ass for wrecking the arm and worrying her. It occurred after he said it that he shouldn't risk their immortal status being called into question with bloodline ties, but Jak-knife had never made a big deal out of the "God-King" thing.

"A Pandoran pa? Oof, no wonder you have the stomach to tough it here." He felt a strange surge of pride, it was more condolence then a compliment but he didn't often hear "tough" in a sincere way directed at him. He tried not to let it show, but he felt bolder and took a more cheery swig of water after it. Jak-knife noticed, surprised but noting what helped his mood. It was quiet for a few moments after, as Jak-knife tackled making a fire, and Troy tried to figure out how the fuck people handled the conversation. His question blurted out at random when he grew tired of trying to think of a Segway. "What about you?" The question barely had context and he cringed at himself as he opened his mouth to clarify.

"My Pa?" They answered before he could embarrass himself further. "A Rid-head, both parents actually. I was clan raised. It's uh...an interesting start." They laughed a little as they said it, but the idea of a bunch of bandits in charge of a child didn't seem like something that would end well to Troy. The idea of there being a start to life with no mother figure was something he'd never thought about, it made him both sad and crushingly envious at the same time. It was late and came time for his medication, wordlessly Jak-knife got him more water as he swallowed them down. He hated people being around for this, but they'd seen it before. There are dignities you forfeit for the sake of security.

Inspecting the dressings on his wounds carefully, Troy noticed something different and familiar. These weren't standard medical supplies, and the smell of the mixture used to soothe the wounds made his chest ache. It wasn't quite the same, but it was so similar to his childhood. Jak-knife noticed the intense focus. "Oh, it's an old Pandoran salve. Prevents skag scratch fever better than anything. Sorry, should have mentioned." They were worried he was upset with the way he stayed quiet. It took him time to speak, more mumbling to himself. "...smells kinda like something my mother used to use...she always knew how to make it all feel alright..." his eyes were glazed over a little. Jak-knife got the sense this was a...delicate conversation. "She sounds nice." Troy only nodded, going to speak more but thinking better of it.

He was stony-faced now, despite tears. Jak-knife wanted to comfort him, say more. Something like "she'd be proud of you" or "you must have got your smarts from her" but they had no clue what was ok if that was ok. Instead, they opted for a more familiar form of comfort. "...c'mon boss, let's get you fed. Can't open the vaults without some steak in your belly." They turned to go cook, and give him some time to compose himself. It didn't take him too long to bounce back, asking about ingredients and back seat cooking. They let him, preferring snark and one-liners to the pain they'd witnessed earlier. Jak-knife knew that for the twins this wasn't a family but a business, but that didn't mean they'd give up on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	20. Sigil of a Saint (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

### -Early COV-

"Oh Seifa come on, _come onnnn_ , it's not like that!"

She wasn't listening. Of _course_ she wasn’t listening. If there was one thing Troy had realised in the last 18 months since they landed on Pandora, it was that no one who mattered _ever fucking listened to him_. 

Or maybe it was just women. Tyreen and Sei would rip his balls off for ever daring to raise it, but _hell_ did the pair of them have more in common than anyone would be stupid enough to admit within earshot. They were both stubborn, blockheaded assholes at times, and right now was one of them.

Man, he was _so_ glad they were alone in her office wing. The last thing he'd want to add to the pile of shit he already had to deal with would be for some of her engineers to have been watching on as God King Calypso shuffled awkwardly behind one of his department heads, whining for attention like some giant Skag pup while she _completely ignored him_. She always did when she got like this, when she was moments away from working herself into a frenzy he _knew_ was coming because you could feel her foul temper like static in the air.

She'd throw all logic to the wind and then lash out at him, herself, the COV, everything, unless he got her to listen now before she blew... and each second that ticked by without her calming was another step further away from this ending amicably. Troy **hated** this. Every time it happened was needless stress for both of them, just another problem he needed to shoulder and try to find a resolution for, and it wasn't even _his fucking fault_ this time. 

He ran a hand down his face with a groan, rapidly losing hope as Sei continued to storm across the workshop ahead of him, rage hunching the curve of her shoulders while she muttered insults Troy hadn’t been able to _quite_ make out.

"Janked up skinny little _shit._ " Ah... He heard that one fine, and if he didn't know her as well as he did, he'd take the hitch in her voice as weakness rather than a warning.

"Arrogant, two-faced prick." Made that muttered one out too, almost as crystal clearly as his head would have made out the wrench she’d just flung viciously backwards from her workbench if he hadn’t retained his reflexes from years of hunting on Nekrotafeyo. This _wasn't his fault_!

"Sei.." he comforted tentatively, warily eying the other tools within her reaching distance as he took a step closer to where she stood shaking in front of the bench. "Please. Trust me, ok.. It really ain't _like that_."

"Like what, Troy?" she growled over her shoulder, slamming a crowbar against the solid wood table as he winced behind her. "Like you're _not_ telling me I need to get your _fucking copyright brand_ engraved into my skin? Are you HEARING yourself?". He was, actually, and if _she_ would for one goddamn second instead of getting this defensive, then they might finally get somewhere and not waste the rest of their night at each other's throats.

He was close enough to hear her deep breaths, fighting to get her emotions under control enough to continue without unwanted tears making him think she was anything but _furious_.

"...you want to mark me like I'm... like I'm _property_?" the crack in her voice at the end hit hard, he felt that one like a gut punch. It didn't matter that he knew she was wrong, or that she was blowing it massively out of proportion, this wasn’t the reaction he had expected. Seifa was logical, generally. She pushed emotion out of the way of hard numbers, facts, she’d swallow her feelings to make way for _profits_... He'd thought she’d understand the same way he had when Tyreen had discussed her worries about the Saints, he’d thought she’d take it _well_.   
  
He'd been an idiot. Look at him now: standing behind his closest friend as she held back tears, both of them tired, frustrated, hurt, and Troy was unsure of how the hell this had even happened yet alone how to _fix it._

Her head bowed with a sniffle she hadn’t manage to hold back, and he dropped his eyes to the workrooms gritty floor with a scowl. Easier to stare at the dirt and pretend he couldn't see how much this was hurting her than watch her shoulders tremble. He chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to see the path out of this mess. Maybe he could still pull things back, reassure her and salvage things.

The iron fist at his side flexed involuntarily, nerves firing on reflex as he sighed. "No Sei, and it's not about _you_ , ok? It's not some grand attack aimed to undermine you specifically. Pleeeeaase, just _listen_. Hear me out for once. You know damn well I'm not in the habit of agreeing with Tyreen if she's in the wrong, she's _right_ about this Seifa, an-"

She spun whip-fast to face him, pointing accusingly up towards his jaw with _far_ more threat than someone her height should rightfully be able to wield, and he jerked backwards, snapping out of his lethargy as he stared down his nose at the finger shaking below him in fury. He’d never _seen_ her this upset before, indignant as she hissed breath through clenched teeth.

“I won't be fucking owned by **you** , boy." Seifa spat... and the clever bite in that insult _wasn't_ missed.

He fought back a snarl, lip twitching as he met her glare. Here it was, he should have fucking known, _here_ was the attack. She _always_ did this, acted like there was nothing between them once she’d decided he’d riled her up, regardless of what had actually happened. Any affront on her pride was met with the same focused rage towards whoever she saw as the aggressor, and the chain of command ceased to exist _instantly_. Size, age, _power_ , always treated him like he was some sick, stupid little kid, like she was always right and he never was... She never fucking _listened to him_.

Troy shifted on his feet, standing straighter as he stared down at her, pale and shivering below him. He gently pushed her finger away with a hand that dwarfed hers, and leaned forward, still towering above her even as he hunched to come closer to her eye level.

" **Seifa**." he hissed, jaw tight and frosty eyes narrowed to daggers. " _YOU_ won't be owned by _anyone_. This has to happen, for _all_ the Saints. This is how it needs to go. Ty’s right. I wasn't sure she was either but I checked in with our new advisor and he completely backed it up, not doing this would end in a waste of lives _I'm not willing to lose_ even if you're apparently happy enough to risk the one I'm trying to save _right now_."

She laughed, a snorting wheeze with a smirk far too fake to remotely touch her eyes, and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, cocking a hip in haughty challenge. "Ahhhh, I get it...” she tapped a finger to the center of his bare chest and smirked as she felt him flinch subtly beneath it. Troy sucked in a breath, but she cut him off before he’d even managed to get his next word out.

“So your _new space wizard_ I've never so much as _met,_ Ven was it? This Magic 8-ball lookin fucker gets to decide _I'm_ marked as owned by _you_ , Calypso? Funny... here I was thinking you were the big boy of this organisation, that it was _you_ in charge... not that you were some weedling little shitbag bending to his big scary sister's demands while using a fucking scam artist he's been stupid enough to be taken for a ride by as his justificati-"

" **STOP** "

He immediately regretted the outburst as it echoed through the empty workshop, bouncing off the skeletons of technicals suspended from the ceilings and scrap metal piled against walls. It was far louder than he’d intended at all, but the hurt little choking sound she made in response? That was even _worse_.

Troy whistled in a lungful and held it, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he counted down from three, tightening the steel fist by his side till the metal creaked in distress and interrupted the heavy silence.

The tension between them was palpable in the dark heat of the hangar, nothing to break the uneasy quiet bar the murmuring hum of the machinery outside her sealed quarters. He slid his eyes open and lowered them to her at the end of his count.. but the tears she was struggling to hold back winded him, and he no longer felt the justification he needed when he realised how much she was _hurting._

She looked away, lip trembling as her arms wrapped around herself, more for comfort now than to force an air of confidence. God, he wanted to fix this. He didn’t want to see Seifa _small_. She was meant to be unbreakable, not something that _could_ be hurt at all. Troy lifted his hand to touch her shoulder but stopped, catching himself before his fingers brushed against her skin, reconsidering. It didn't feel right... he shouldn't. It wasn't what she needed, she needed...

"Sei.." he whispered, slowly lowering himself to his knees, waiting for her to shudder in some wracking breaths before gently placing mismatched hands on her hips and tugging her lightly, pulling her step by step closer to where he knelt In front of her. "L-look at me." he rumbled, voice soft and stutter unhidden.

Her red-rimmed eyes shifted down to his from where he looked up at her, and he risked a lopsided smirk. She mirrored it shakily, breathing out a hitching laugh as she clumsily wiped a sleeve across her eyes, black liner smeared along her cheeks and ego dropped alongside the gesture, Just DeLeon and A'Rosk again, like before all this cult bullshit. God’s and titles be damned. 

His thumb brushed across the ridge of her hip as she sniffed, waiting for him to continue. "Please Sei, j-just trust me on this, _please_ , for once.”

“If some scumbag slaver got their hands on a transport vessel with a woman insisting she was a fuckin' **Saint of the COV** , it wouldn't mean _shit_. They wouldn’t believe it for a second. We're growing so fast Sei. _So_ fast. In a month's time how many fakes you think there's gonna be, huh? How many people risking their necks for fame or favors by saying they're one of _our Saints_ , huh? You know how supply and demand works b-better than I do..."

She nodded quietly, avoiding the concern in his eyes by staring at the curve of his jaw instead. He figured she was embarrassed, or still hurt maybe, but she was _listening_ , and her hands slid from around her waist to lay on top of his.

That bloomed something warm in his stomach, flickering and deep. It was working, Troy was fixing this. She was listening and he wasn’t needing to pretend to be someone else to be heard for once, hadn’t needed to sneer and intimidate like he was playing a part that didn’t _suit._ She didn’t need _threat_ to care, she cared too much if anything, he knew that, even if she hid it under layers of false hardness.

"Sei, telling people you’re a Saint won’t do anything if you’re in danger. OK? It won’t, it’s like.. _zero_ protection. You _know_ that, you’re cleverer than me and _I_ know that, so stop b-bullshitting ok? Words aren't going to mean fuck all, but a _symbol_? A symbol can't be a lie. A symbol _will_ keep you safe. Keep _all_ of you safe as we keep getting bigger. No one would risk wearing our sigils without our blessing considerin' what we'll _do to them_. People will know it’s not a lie being made up on the spot cause right then the fear of them is greater than the fear of _us_." 

He was right and she knew it. He’d won even if she hadn’t agreed yet. That was her too, a woman _so stubborn_ that silent surrender didn’t cut her as deep as admitting defeat. Just like Tyreen. Just like Mom.

He squeezed slightly, shaking her gently and snorting out a chuckle at the wobble that ran up her torso as she shifted back and forth with his movements, failing miserably at pretending she didn't want to laugh. “Are you... are you negotiating with me and _winning_ , Troy?” he could hear the playful challenge in that without needing to read it from her lips. 

“Ohhhh you got me...” he cooed, pouting up at her from under dark eyelashes “I learned from the best though, nightmare to fuckin work with, she should get _all_ the blame.”

That was it. That’s what he wanted. That ugly snotty laugh she choked out, the smeared makeup and terrible hair piled haphazardly on top of her head as her nose scrunched with the width of her smile. _That_ was Seifa, not the cold shell she tried to hide behind when she encountered a threat to the control she’d built a lifetime of survival on.

He moved closer, a subtle shift that pressed his forehead against her stomach as he carefully leaned against her, voice dropping to a whisper as her hands moved to rest on either side of his collarbone. "Seifa, the danger out there is real. It's _so_ r-real Sei and it's goin' to get more vicious and more aggressive every goddamn day as who you are and who you're _close to_ becomes so _valuable,_ people will kill for a touch. It's not a brand. I promise, it’s not ownership. It's protection. It's to keep you _safe_. You aren’t property, you’re not. I mean, God. Like _**you**_ could be owned, like _I_ could ever have y-"

The words caught in his throat as she dropped to her knees on the dirt floor, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug so tight that he could feel her shuddering sobs echo through her chest and into his ribs.

Good timing, he realised with a wave of confused emotion. 

_**Really**_ _good timing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com 
> 
> Image credit - hbillelis.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	21. Succession (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## Tyreen feels betrayed.

Wether she wants children or not is irrelevant, in fact, she doesn’t. She grew up without so much as seeing a child, and finds the idea of them pretty repulsive as a grown woman. Loud, smelly, irritating people who need and need and _need_. She’s got no concept of the mental differences between a child and an adult having never been around any to develop it, so finds it hard to understand a child can’t be expected to comprehend their actions and behave to the same level she’d want them to.

They frustrate her, and the last thing Tyreen Calypso wants to be is a mother. Mothers.. mothers will just _disappoint_ you.  
  
What Tyreen Calypso does want at all times, is complete, unquestionable control. She cannot stand being told no. She cannot stand the idea of facing any kind of failing that means she can’t have something, or can’t do something, regardless of how factual it is.  
  
**The Leech** means her body instantly kills and absorbs the life force of any living thing it touches that’s not *her*.   
  
Bacteria, viruses, plants, animals, people, anything with living cells is rendered to eridium spiked dust at her touch. The only being this doesn’t apply to is _Troy_ , and that’s solely because their shared power means it sees him as part of itself. That’s it.

Her body’s functions are fine, she’s fertile, she’s capable of carrying to term, it’s not her that’s the problem. It’s her _curse_.   
  
She’s never tried to conceive, but she knows it’s impossible. There is no way to do it naturally, no way to not have viable sperm immediately be destroyed by her body, or stop **The Leech** destroying the flickering life in the zygote as soon as it viewed it as something other than part of Tyreen. It would have to be through a surrogate, and that is unacceptable.   
  
Not because there is anything wrong with surrogacy, because it means Ty has failed in the warped, misshapen logic she applies to herself. It means she admits she failed, and would mean other people know too. _They’d_ know she was incapable of something she should be, and _she’d_ know it was because of her split, broken, disgusting power. It would open the gates to having to acknowledge she’s not a deity, that she’s flawed, and incapable. That she’s lying to herself and her followers, and she can’t ever allow that to happen. This is her power betraying her yet again, it’s proof she’s not in control of it.

She can’t reach a compromise with herself where she can be a flawless, all powerful being, and a damaged, hurt woman.  
  


_**…God’s** _ **_don’t_ negotiate _._**

## Troy feels unworthy. ****

He likes kids. Weird, strange little things that either barefaced lie or tell you the _absolute truth_ , and he finds that so fascinating.

Father Troy is surrounded by sycophants, there are so few people around him who treat him as human or speak to him like a person, a man wearing a mantle.

The kids who skitter around the dust streets throwing rocks at the masked Crusaders patrolling the slums of the Holy City, who hold scrap metal in their right hand as they pull raggedy bits of old furs over their shoulders and demand their friends call them “God King”?

They are some of the only genuine truth in this place, and he _like_ s them.

The slums have always had extra funding diverted in their direction, cash flow from the coffers that -somehow- is missed by his sharp eye, and he’d be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t due to how many families live in those districts compared to the trade and cabal networks that make up the inner city.

He’s not really thought about a child as something that could be part of his life, for a lot of reasons. It opens a path for his mind to trail downwards, and by now he knows _exactly_ where that kind of shit leads, so he avoids even starting. He can’t have kids anyway.

Or at least, the chances are a million to one. Just another little betrayal from a body he hates more every day. He’s wary enough even then to still take anti-fert shots weekly, and it’s not because he doesn’t like the idea of a child.. it’s.. it’s a lot of other things.

It’s the dread of that one in a million happening and for the excitement and rising joy to be suddenly crushed by the news that there was _something wrong_. That his disgusting, broken genes had fucked over someone else, and it was his fault. That another innocent black haired blue eyed kid was going to be doomed to a life of pain, and _he’d_ be to blame.

Or worse, that his one in a million would be _twins_. God.. he can’t even stomach the thought for a second, the panic rises through his spine and into his gut fast enough to make him retch, _twins_?

Never. Medical intervention isn’t an option. He’d never _choose_ to do that.. to a child, yet alone leave it to the minute risk of happening naturally. He couldn’t.

He’s rolled around what that means for the COV plenty, Ty can’t carry and is wholly uninterested in having a child at all. Says they will be Gods soon, so why would they need to waste time thinking about pointless shit like _kids_? She’s not going to die, so why would she worry about a successor? Called him an idiot for being concerned enough to bring it up once, and he never has since.   
  
He’s not so sure though…. about any of it. Where any of this is going, if Tyreen’s reassurances that he’ll be as much a God as her hold any substance, or if it’s just another noose she’s subtly roping around his neck as he stumbles blindly behind her.

There are times some nights where he can’t sleep, laying alone in that empty ship’s pitch black bedchambers as he watches the dull red lights on his arm’s charging station slowly glow and dim, where he considers that he could just go walk down into the slums and **help** one of those kids.

He could be a father to someone who’d understand what that word meant, not parrot it as a title like the billions who follow him do, but he won’t. He’ll stay in that dark room instead, alone.

Because Troy knows what a father is meant to feel like, and he knows what he wished _he_ could have had as one. Someone to look up to, someone to feel loved by, and he knows there is _nothing_ about him or the life he’s lived that is something anyone should **_ever_** admire.

He’d only disappoint in the end. He’d be to a child what he always has been, a failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	22. Denizens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

> The holy city is a heaving metropolis of neon and knifes that rapidly grew around the Grand Cathedral of the COV as acolytes, desperate survivors, and _opportunists_ flocked to the Holy Father and Gilded Queen's embrace. 
> 
> Holograms the size of buildings shine the Twin's effigies out of cobbled together skyscrapers, scrap metal spires pierce the skyline and colour the oily clouds that swirl around the Cathedrals highest peaks with flashing acid hued lights. It's smoke, sweat and _blaring music_.
> 
> It's a gothic spew of luminous colour, blood and laughter. It's drug dens and cartels burrowed into the flimsy stacks of housing built haphazardly on top of each other, dotted with shrines and idols in worship to the Twin Gods. An oily megacity of garish paint and holy iconography, stained glass gore right next to massive monitors broadcasting Lets Flays above the filthy, dark alleys.  
>    
>  Skull masked Crusaders patrol the streets in their glowing neon paint and black leather. The faceless hands of the Gods stalking through the city keep the denizens "safe", in as much as that's possible on Pandora. The Holy City has very few laws but _an eye for an eye is expected,_ and heads roll for sacrilege _.  
>    
>  _Everyone here is equal unless **you're not,** and who has power is only for the Twins to decide... in their infinite wisdom.  
> 
> 
> The people who live here range from fervid believers to people just looking for a roof above their head and food in their belly, families and abandoned ex-corp workers who see the COV's offerings for what they really are - a chance to survive on a planet that _abhors_ weakness.

* * *

##  Troy:

Troy maintains relatively common appearances at some of the “higher” end bars and clubs dotted around the Holy City.

If he’s gracing one with his presence, you can tell easily from the crowds clambering outside. There will be a swarm of rabid fans pleading and bribing the bouncers for access, anything for the opportunity to SEE a God in the flesh. He’ll be lounging in the plush decadence of the raised and guarded VIP lounge as he takes lazy drags from a hookah. Head back, eyes closed, exhaling pluming clouds of blue tinged smoke in a drug fueled haze of pleasure as the club’s lights flash to the bass beat of the pulsing rave music.

He’s never alone, the hands of followers blessed with being selected for his evening’s entertainment are _always_ caressing the lithe planes of Troy Calypso’s torso while their owner’s beg for attention at his ear in these dives, but if you look closely, you’ll note he’s rarely listening. His eyes are often trained on the same corner of the heaving den.

Ol’ Desmond by the e-etch dart boards, up a whole 8 fingers and down one dodgy eye, but an AMAZING shot, to the point of being a _shark_ when it comes to bets in these dens of sin. Troy himself has very poor thrown accuracy. Physical issues, really. Between the lack of balance in his shoulders and his reliance on close knife combat as he grew up, he struggles to aim a strong throw now. He often likes to sit, absorb the attention of desperate, pathetic acolytes, and soak in the pleasurable smog of the night’s choice of chemical high pumping through his system as he listens to this oily little shit swindle money out of people who assume he’s going to flunk the shot.

Des knows the gold flake laden cocktails that arrive in the manicured grip of scantily clad bar-staff a little _too eager_ to caress your fingers as they pass the glass are slightly out of the price range of most of the cartel scum hanging around him in these gambling corners, and sends the looming presence of Calypso’s VIP platform the odd wink, talking just a bit louder next time about how to flex your elbow and tense in your lats just right, how to bullseye from sight, how to control your breathing on the release..

If he catches the glint of the God King’s golden fanged smirk out of the corner out of his eye, he’s sayin’ _nothing_.

##  Seifa:

There’s a woman in one of the food markets along the outskirts of the lower city, just where the cracked pavement makes way to the hard dirt of the grimy slums, who has a tiny noodle stall built into the base wall of one of the towering, junked together living complexes.

Seifa found it years ago on a bender with Ven who’d insisted he _knew_ just the right spot to slake their lust for oily filth. To _trust_ him. He was never wrong… right? It had hit the mark, even if he’d passed out face down on the counter and needed to be thrown across her back and carried back to the Cathedral. Or.. she thinks he did? That night is honestly a bit of a blur.

She’s been visiting religiously ever since. Sei tried to learn her name a few times, but embarrassingly kept mispronouncing it much to her disappointment. The older woman would laugh, cheeky eyes twinkling behind a lifetime of laughter lines, and tell Sei just to call her “Auntie”.

If she knows Sei is a Saint, it’s not something she’s ever mentioned, regardless of what entourage is with her when she makes her pilgrimage to auntie’s stall once a month. The food is a greasy mess of noodles, whatever veg she’s found available that week, and meat Sei _tends_ to steer clear of, though she’d never be obvious about it, of course. She’s not sure what it is exactly, and isn’t keen on ingesting it even if she’d rather not hurt the other woman’s feelings.

If the food is half of the draw to make the trip, the other is auntie’s ear. She always has time, always nods and hmm’s and gasps along to whatever you’re telling her as she stirs and flips the giant woks of ingredients in the steaming night air of the city. Is she actually listening? Doesn’t really matter to Sei, she’s there. She can spill her guts as she fills them with junkfood. Aunty doesn’t judge, doesn’t particularly _care_ , but every now and then?

Every now and then she gives advice.. and if you don’t pay attention to what a woman like this tells you?

You’re a fucking fool.

##  Tyreen:

She doesn’t know the man’s name but she can sense him a mile off. There’s a strange awkwardness in the air when he’s around, it clearly turns others away, considering how often she’s found him alone, but there is a draw in it for her. He’s a kindred spirit, maybe. Or someone who genuinely doesn’t care about what she is, who _she is_ , she’s not too sure, but it’s unique. He’s _special_ , that’s for sure.

The first time they’d met had been 5 years ago, the Grand Cathedral’s last bricks had been laid and she had taken to wandering the massive halls late at night when there was nothing to hear bar the click of her boots echoing through the great stone and hallowed glass wall-faces, and her thoughts.

She’d been lost in them, no longer fully paying attention to her direction. Subconscious focused on placing one foot in front of the other as she thought of Nektrotafeyo, how the cool of the Cathedral’s night air was so close to the soft breeze that whispered between the arcing, twisted trees that surrounded the entrance to their _home_ , when she was interrupted by his gravelly:

**”You. Moofv“**

and the irritated thwack of his broom against her foot.

She’d snapped out of her reverie and straight into a rage, turning to grab at who so INSOLENTLY spoke to God Queen Calypso, and stopped short as she came face to face with him. His lopsided, angry face meeting her eye to eye, messy mop of aging grey hair curling around his ears and over his janitor overall’s collar.

She’d paused, and his broom had slammed into her foot again.

**”I SED, MOOFV.“**

And she did. Jumped back like a scolded child, apologised, and shrunk under his irritated glare as he shuffled past and began to sweep again, humming a guttural broken tune to himself as he cleaned.

She watched for a while longer as he polished, dusted, straightened the pews and scraped blood off the tiles.

Every few weeks she wanders down to the chambers of worship and waits till she feels that strangeness in the air, says hello as he shuffles by. His grunted greeting is more genuine than any of the conversations she’s meant to _enjoy_ in her day to day life, and he either doesn’t know who she is, or does not *give a shit* that he’s being dismissive of a God.

Sometimes she tries to help, hands him things from the floor, takes a cloth and wipes surfaces down to his disapprovement, he hits her hands with a dusting brush and tells her:

**"Do it ’ _gain_ , terrible. Uggh. Like child lerning to swim in shark water. Stupīd”**

She does it again. Sometimes he smiles after. It’s nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	23. Bracer and broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

  * His frame is part of his aesthetic now as The God King. He doesn’t want to lose it, he _likes_ being bigger, feeling strong, but it’s made all the shame and trauma of showing anyone the truth WORSE.


  * Troy bulked up without any care towards his health, he’s gained muscle on a body barely struggling to keep itself functioning, he’s pushing and pushing it with no reaction to it breaking down or showing clear signs of damage, and all for what? The more he refines his build, the worse his withered right side looks in comparison, the clearer how _much is missing_ becomes.


  * He’s making looking at what’s under the bracer harder every day and it gets easier to just leave it on instead. If he doesn’t look at it, he can pretend what he sees in the mirror is the real him, that the bracer bulking out his right, matching the bulge of his lats, the breadth of his shoulders, is **him**. Even when blood starts trickling down his side as it weeps between the small gap at the base, or the weight of the arm becomes so unbearably painful on the delicate skin the pressure rubs raw, it’s easier to leave it on. Easier than looking at the _corpse_ under it.


  * He used to wear t-shirts, or soft long sleeved tops in private years ago. He didn’t mind around Ty and Sei, it wasn’t a big deal to be _yourself_ on her ship, there was no one you needed to don a facade for. He was covered, anyway. It wasn’t embarrassing, they knew he was missing a limb, and while Seifa wasn’t aware of how much muscle and skeletal structure was missing from his right, or how thin and transparent the stretched scar tissue was, not wearing the bracer felt.. fine.


  * It was just the norm in the intimacy of a home. He’d never show what was under directly, that was the line… that was obscene. Disgusting. He’d never… he’d _never_ , but he could take the bracer off and cover up and not feel…


  * He’d not feel anything, really. Troy misses that. Not constantly being so agonisingly aware. Every movement of the massive arm is a painful reminder of the skin it damages underneath. He knows it’s making it worse, constantly, but you don’t _get_ to have nice neat scars when your father butchered you with a hacksaw before you could even see. 


  * You don’t get to have strong rigid skin when there was no graft, you _never_ had enough to eat, and your body stretched itself to breaking point during growth spurts that just _kept coming_.


  * Now, he never takes it off around anyone. Ever. It’s removed to treat wounds in private, bathe, or to sleep if the pain of it gets too much, but thats very rare. Troy doesn’t sleep much anymore.


  * He would have no problem with being shirtless before, alone in his quarters. Working on art, or editing. Pressing his thumb into the dip of the socket when it ached, or absentmindedly running his fingers over the ridges of sore ribs after hours of the bracer’s pressure.


  * He’d sit topless in the light sometimes, in that blast of heat that would paint the rugs covering his floors in pools of shifting colour as the Pandoran sun cascaded through the ship’s main viewport wall of glass. He’d let it soak into him while he rested cross legged and eyes closed, let it sink into scars and bones that always felt _cold_.


  * Now, he can’t even look at it. The bracer never comes off unless needed, even when he’s alone, and the damage it’s causing just makes it even harder to deal with when he next _has_ to look at himself. He’s locked into a spiral there isn’t any way out of. It **hurts** , but it’s easier than looking at the truth of what Troy Calypso _really_ is.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	24. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

The God Twins don’t have “ _friends_ ” among the majority of the people in the Holy City and Grand Cathedral. The people Troy would describe as a friend he could count on his one hand, and Ty? Tyreen doesn’t even see other people **as** people, so there aren’t many who are close to them in general. That doesn’t mean Troy specifically isn’t cared about, and it’s by people he would probably never think _would_. 

* * *

* * *

Staff he still murmurs a thank you to when they bring him food or information even though he’s clearly stressed and exhausted, engineers he stops in the Mechanicum to offer _genuine interest_ regarding their work, asking them questions and eagerly taking on board their opinions in response.

Most of his Saints _like_ Troy, even on a very basic level. He treats them respectfully. In fact, he treats _everyone_ respectfully; the key is to show him the same in return.

The cook staff, the maintenance, the slum folk who live on the outskirts of the cult’s city? Those are the ones who will have idols to the Holy Father in their homes rather than worship the gilded Queen. People _see_ what is happening, and Seifa knows a **LOT** of people.

Sei has plenty of colleagues and friends within the HC itself, she’s got a rule of leaving more friendships than enemies anywhere she travels, it’s required when you live her kind of migratory life. She doesn’t discriminate by caste, if anything she’s _more genuine_ to the thieves and scrap sellers in the lower city than the clergy and jewelry draped priests in the high cloisters, and her network of influence is larger than you’d expect from looking at her. The people within the cult who show her _additional_ interest are mostly ones who hate her guts… which there are **plenty of.**

Troy’s Saints are in direct conflict personality wise with Tyreen’s, something to be expected when they are hand picked by and tend to represent traits of each patron Twin. While face to face aggression between department heads is rare, the underhanded toxicity of rumors and badmouthing between them and their staff can be vicious, though it’s Ty’s crew that is the less covert.

The Clergy are another threat, the majority can’t stand the Sainthood at all, as the High Priests and Bishops tend to be intelligent enough to realise what game is _really_ being played, and how little power they have in reality. The higher within the cult you rise, the clearer it becomes that it’s a _business_ , NOT a _religion_.

She has touch-points in friendships across all parts of the city and cult, even some of the acolytes, but the folks who keep her most up to date are Ven and Jk, Engi’s who’ve been there since the start and remember how _bad_ things where before she took the role and just how much she’s done for her department’s people, and Saints she got on well with, like Sol Ur-Aurum.

Solomon Blatjky is Troy’s Saint of the Financial Dept, and has been with the COV since the start, since before it HAD a name. An exceptionally well educated and highly skilled stockbroker, he helped the Twins originally invest their donations and get a foothold monetarily. Standing 3ft 2 doesn’t mean a man of his nature should be underestimated, despite it happening constantly, especially from clergy hierarchy and other Saints who see the Tink as an easy mark… he can leave your assets liquidated with the push of a button and a single well placed call.  
  
They’ve not always seen eye to eye and have wildly different opinions on priority matters within the COV, but he’s on the same wavelength as her when it comes to the _importance of information_. They keep in touch, and she loops him in on events outside his scope of influence - such as happenings on the border planets and bases.

While the updates from people within the upper Echelon during her self imposed exile hurt, it’s the ones from the staff that cut the deepest. She _expects_ it when Ven notifies her on the rising clashes between the twins. He see’s it, he’s right there between them. Hearing from Sol that Troy has been siphoning massive amounts of undocumented funds from the coffers? It’s worrying, but she knows he can handle it.

Getting a ping from a janitor she helped out of debt under the table a couple of years ago that says:

> **“GKT just stalked through the cathedral, it’s 2:30am and god I don’t know what the fuck happened to him Sei but he looks like he’s about to collapse, he was dragging that nasty hunk of metal along the ground, it’s barely attached?? IDK what’s going on anymore but he’s _on his last legs I swear_ , thinking of getting out of here myself, shit feels like an electrical storm is brewin’ and I’d rather not be around when it blows. Stay safe”**

That’s bad. 

That’s _really_ bad.

If people outside the upper host are seeing the reality of what’s happening now? Then there isn’t much time left _at all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	25. A moment treasured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Seifa**

Oily little fingers turned the pendant timidly for the 100th time as it rested on the cloth of the merchant’s stall display, and he snorted, nodding at the customer who waved a farewell as they stepped back into the heaving crowd of the market.

“ **Kid** ”.

She jolted, wide eyes meeting his from over the edge of the stall table they barely reached above as she pulled her hands back in fright.

He laughed, little greaser had the reactions of a Rak on coke, then leant forward to get a better look at her. Dirty tiny thing, healthy, brushed hair, gap teeth, big blue eyes and a helping of freckles smacked across a face that was both mortified and almost challenging in the way she was boldly returning his stare.

“You ain’t in _trouble_ , I was gonna say somethin’ is all. Been watchin’ you outta the cornah of my eye for an _hour_ fussin round with that thing, waitin’ for you to try and nick it but ya ain’t tried.. have ya.”

She glanced back at the pendant, visibly relaxing as she rocked back on her heels. “…nahhh. Boss says you steal something you’s just taking food out of someone else’s mouth. ”

“..And you’re not hungry.” he prompted with a knowing smile.

“I ain’t hungry.” the kid echoed, returning a grin missing half her baby teeth.

He leaned back into the cracked leather chair shoved behind his stall’s display and playfully slapped the heft of his heavy belly “Neither am I kid. So you can take it, tell your Boss it’s nice to see a girl your age _with manners_ ”.

She didn’t grab it and run, didn’t say thanks or laugh or anything else he was expecting, just stared at it again, brow furrowing as her smile soured, wringing the front of her oily dungarees in tiny hands. “I… I ain’t got no money.” whispered just loud enough he caught it over the din of the crowd.

Strange kid. Snapping his fingers to get her attention back, he pointed again at the pendant, waiting for her eyes to follow. “I said take it. It’s **free**.”

He watched as she silently mouthed “ _free”,_ theconfusion clear as her eyes rested unfocused on his table a moment, before she reached forward and gingerly picked it up, cupping it like treasure in her shaky hand as she concentrated on opening the satchel on her hip and wrapping it in a clean rag. Stowing it inside carefully, like it was something _priceless_ and not a $15 bit of metal and glass.

She shifted on her feet, biting at the bottom of her lip as she squinted back at him after. “Free.. I.. Boss is just over there so I can go get you money now though, I can-”

His deep laugh cut her off, and he raised a hand to shoo her away, turning his attention back to attracting _actual_ customers.

##  **Troy**

**–Uroboros log - Personal transport - Artemis Orbit - // ~~DELETED blame=GKT~~ –**

**Log begins**

( _A pop, then liquid being poured_ ) 

_(Silence)_

**JK** \- “…. how do you do that." 

**T** \- ( _Audible swallow, tinkling of glass_ ) "Hmm? The cocktail? It’s real easy, Ven showed me, c'mere." 

**JK** \- ( _Their tone is gruff, words gurgled through the mask filter_ ) ” **NO**. Not the drink. That. What you did with those people in the room.“ ( _sound of leather creaking_ )

_(Silence)_

**T** \- "The meeting.. what I did in the meeting?" 

**JK** \- ( _Eager grunting_ )

**T** \- "You need to explain Jak-Knife I don’t.. ( _a sigh_ ) You have to tell me clearly so I can answer right for you." 

**JK** \- "The.. the.. ( _stammering click sounds_ ) the.. words. The words, that’s what I can’t do, the words when you ( _panic beginning to creep into their voice_ ) talk they _listen_ and don’t question, all eyes. All ears! All minds stop and turn to _you_ and you j-j-just defeat them without touching, no blood no meat n-" 

**T** \- _(Gently)_ "Whoaaaah, whoah, it’s ok. It’s ok, stop.” ( _footsteps, his voice is now closer_ ) “Stop it JK come on, you’re gripping the skin too hard let go, g-gonna hurt yourself, _fuck_.”

_(Silence)_

**T** \- “… Words are how I fight sometimes. That’s how my life is, always been that way even when I was a k-k - ( _clears throat and pauses_ ) .. kid. I’m good at that, you’re good at.. a hell of a lot of shit I’m _not_. Why are you getting so worked up over this? A lot of the time I’m in positions where I _can’t_ fight with anything but words, you don’t gotta worry about that." 

**JK** \- ”… What if I.. ( _their voice is pained_ ).. what if I can’t fight sometimes, what if I’m trapped. No choice, play nice, play _good_. Want to _rip_ them apart but have to stand calm. Words like you do, like you wield, I could hurt them _without_ hurting. **Cut** without blood.“ 

**T** \- "Well… ( _a pause, footsteps, tinkling glass and his voice is quieter again_ ) You just gotta look for their weakness. The jugular of their character, you feel me? What they’re proud of, what they use as the iron in their spine. Rip it out of ‘em _like a shiv, JK._. Gut 'em with their own fears about who they _really are_. You see the truth about people, you a-always have… _tell them_ what you see, and watch them _crumble_." 

**JK** \- ”…. Thank you broth- ( _they grunt quietly_ ) .. Your _Majesty_.“

**Log ends**

JK belongs to the amazing [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw) \- [Art Source](https://twitter.com/seven_teenth/status/963097818926895104)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	26. Prowess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **Troy**

  * Very capable of holding ground himself 1 v 1 and relatively confident against smaller numbers of people due to the reach and defensive power of his cybernetics, but would be unlikely to _get_ into combat solo in general, as he wouldn’t allow himself to be in a remotely dangerous scenario without his Vanguard or JK on hand.
  * His sheer size means protecting someone by just getting between them and the danger is easy, though he could count on his flesh hand how many people he’d risk harm for…
  * Massively prefers melee to ranged combat and only carries a gun for necessary protection. If he’s leading a raid he’s face to face with whoever he’s ripping to shreds. It’s good for both the viewer count **and** his ego.
  * Knives are his go-to carried weapon alongside his crushing jaw and mech arm. He’s faster with a knife than anyone would expect from someone his size, and _far_ quicker on his feet than how he normally moves would imply. Combat flips him back to hunting on Necro with nothing but a blade and his body, and he switches from slow, prowling hulk, to something viciously fast, fluid and very, _very_ frightening.
  * Troy doesn’t go looking for fights in general. It’s tiring, he can take a couple of days to recover from a brawl, and it’s a risk.. always. Even with his Vanguard and a billion eyes on his back, the danger is still there. He’s mortal in the end, even if he plays at being something more.
  * But when the fans are eager enough to be begging for blood sport, or he’s bottled up weeks of frustration and has reached the point where he _needs to rip something apart_ , God King Calypso will head a raid unannounced.
  * Blades in hand and claw, razors in heart and maw, dripping **hate** as he tears heretics apart in front of an adoring audience.



##  **Seifa**

  * Combat skills exactly on par with a bowl of custard someone handed a gun to.
  * Tries to hint at this with close friends but no one seems to believe her and she ends up laughing along while sweating nervously. _Cannot. Do. Shit. In combat._
  * Her battlegrounds are words and numbers, push her outside that level of security and she just _runs_. She’s got absolutely no chance wether ranged OR in close proximity. Too small and too easily hurt to stand a chance if grabbed, and a bad eye (she will lie through her teeth this doesn’t exist) that means she can’t aim, leaves her desperately avoiding possible danger in general. She’s constantly on edge when around any situation that could turn sour.
  * Sei’s main defense is her bravado and confidence. She can come across as absolutely unimpressed with threats aimed her way, shrug them off and disarm them, but if push comes to shove she goes down like a sack of shit. A backhand and she’s gone, she’s got the constitution of a fucking _flan_.
  * Will avoid conflict as much as physically possible, tho she’s a lot more confident if she has backup. She likes being around bigger, stronger people in general because of this, and relies on friends rather than herself.
  * Would struggle terribly to defend anyone, has killed one person in her life in a desperate attempt to prevent one of her friends taking a knife, and it was a purely lucky shot that did it. The attacker’s _head blew open as they lunged at her_ , and she dropped instantly soon as the splatters hit, out cold. Woke up 30 mins later in a pool of gore, passed out again. Repeated that a few times. Not a great memory.
  * Has to at times attend live punishments and Lets Flays due to her role. But is too stupidly stubborn to let her reputation be damaged by not turning up, so sits there in shades and keeps her eyes closed while trying not to vomit for an hour.
  * Carries a ridiculously ornate Jacobs she’s never fired, and that one big bangle? That really awful looking chunky one that looks like she bedazzled it? Taser. Lovely, home made, taser. That’s about all she can handle.



##  **Tyreen**

Well..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	27. What do you *really* want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

**__ **

###  _Late Cov -_

Seifa wants her old life back far more often than she would ever admit.

The urge comes and goes, but it’s common, _way_ too common for someone telling themself they are happy in their current situation at least. It mostly hits when she’s stressed, when it’s been a rough day, or she’s shouldered problems that aren’t even _hers_ to deal with. She’s never been in a position before where that was expected alongside her job. Sei took work on the fly, she was either running her own deals or doing short-term contractor positions that she could technically leave _any time she wanted_.

The day she agrees to have the Saint sigil tattooed at Troy’s insistence is the day it really hits hard that she is genuinely _locked_ into the COV now. 

There is no leaving, there is no going back. She absolutely understands why it needed to be done, and that before agreeing to it was her last real chance to pack up and say being part of this growing religion wasn’t going to be for her, but she didn’t.. she decided to _stay_. This life was going to be permanent, but the fear of that as a reality didn’t come even _close_ to how it felt to finally have a chance to have a home where she belonged. A place to live with people who’d remember her, to build a place for herself and **exist** somewhere she could actually matter.

That was short lived though, it only took 5 years for that dream to crumble and how huge a mistake this had all been to _really_ cut into her confidence. As always, she should have trusted her gut, not her heart.

She thinks about it a lot, it goes from being a creeping worry that would rear its ugly head every few months in the first couple of years, to a constant level of disgust with herself - especially while in exile.

She wishes she’d never met them, she has no idea where she would be now if she hadn’t, but it wouldn’t be _here, feeling like this_. 

There is a good chance she’d be dead by now she figures, wrong place at the wrong time, or a misjudged barter. Maybe a dodgy risk she’d made the mistake of taking, but there’s also the chance she’d have found something else. Maybe found ** _someone**_ else. Maybe not be alone with the ghosts of the only close proximity friends _she’d ever made_ haunting her waking hours.

E-Comms, calls, updates and warnings from them don’t help with the loneliness, and she’d never have to deal with feeling this pathetic emotion in the first place if she’d just _kept walking_ when she heard the girl. Fucking soft, weak joke that she is.

Still though, every time that feeling hammers into her heart and leaves her reaching for whiskey on long nights, the reminder is there. If she hadn’t gone through everything she had, they’d not have made it. He’d be dead, at least. Without doubt… _he would be dead_.

When she thinks of him not surviving that fever, of never being capable of the good _she knows_ he could do if he would just drag himself out from under the barbed claws of the monster he birthed, it eases the choice that was made somehow. She couldn’t really explain why though..

.. because Troy is doing horrific things. If he was dead then these things wouldn’t be happening, would they.

Then again, neither would the Holy City exist, neither would the billion across Pandora surviving on COV care packages, or the towns now able to let their children play without constant fear of raids, all thanks to _his_ banners flying above their dusty rooftops..

She doesn’t know really, doesn’t know which the right choice actually was, and for someone like Seifa who survives on hard logic? That makes things _worse_.

When they’d split paths the first time, 6 months after dragging Troy’s gasping corpse across the desert flats with Tyreen, she gave them the full profits from junking their ship. She pulled favors to get them a safe apt on the edge of a docker town. She waved goodbye and told them to keep in contact, that it could be a year before she’d be back on Pandoran dirt and to reach out to her for _anything they needed_. 

She’s.. completely responsible for what they used her misguided help to create.

She funded their first tech purchases without knowing, she wasn’t there to see the formation of the COV, but it was **_her_** money they handed over to Solomon to gnaw into their first stocks. It was **_her_** business acumen Troy absorbed and warped into something cruel and hungry, it was **_her_** confidence in bullshitting Ty mimicked to manipulate and control, and all of it came together into a fucking **cult** while she was too busy chasing small profits on the border planets. She should _never_ have been stupid enough to think they would be fine on their own.

She may not ever talk about it directly, but the level of guilt and failure she carries regarding these two people is crippling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	28. Love is...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drug use.
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Troy**

  * He’s never been part of a relationship but is absolutely **convinced** he’s fallen in love plenty of times. He has, in fairness, it’s just that his understanding of what that actually entails is so childlike and unformed that its happened far too often in the past, with people who in no way reciprocated it.
  * The last time it happened was still early COV, and it was a camera tech named Ishmal. If you asked Troy to explain why it did, what actually happened to make him believe over time that this man _cared for him_ on the level he believed at the time, he’d struggle to explain himself and get frustrated.
  * All it had really taken was basic kindness, something Ish had considered completely average, like asking if Troy wanted a drink when he was fetching his own, listening after hours as Calypso spewed egotistical bullshit at the fans swarming the studio, then asking him _actual questions_ , showing he’d been really _listening_.
  * It ended exactly as expected, an employer you barely know more than a friend telling you they have feelings for you isn’t anything but exceptionally awkward, but Ish hadn’t laughed, unlike the ones before him. He’d just.. looked so full of _pity_ that Troy can’t think back on him without feeling a burst of anger. If he’d been laughed at it would have been easier, he thinks. The others were easier. Ish looked at him like he was a lost kid when he’d tried to express how he felt, and it cut deep enough to make him decide he just doesn’t _know_ what love is.
  * He’s not allowed that kind of feeling to even begin to spark since, and crushes it the moment he feels the hot flutter form around his ribs. Sometimes he’ll wake up from a fleeting dream about a person he can’t quite place as the memory of it turns to dust faster than he can grab at the images, and he feels that spark again for just a second.
  * He’d prefer not to at all.



##  **Seifa**

  * Sei has no problem understanding when a relationship is a good option or not with someone, the real issue is just how rarely she’s in a position where it _would_ be a good idea.
  * Her last had been a year before the twins with a broker named Re'sha that she’d met through shared business acquaintances.
  * He had sandy blonde hair and a sculpted jaw that his designer glasses complemented perfectly. He’d a portfolio you could barter a planet on with wit to match, and she’d genuinely thought she felt _love_ for him.
  * As the months went on, she realised he loved _her_ , but she was settling. He had money, he had security, she could have put down roots and started a family at last but.. his interests in _her_ interests were skin deep. 
  * He’d began hinting he wasn’t comfortable with the affection she showed friends. He craved her attention to the point of exhausting her with requests for constant e-net communication after long days of hard work when _she_ needed to be cared for, and she was pretty sure that he saw her as a mother figure in all the ways that _really_ didn’t sit well in her gut.
  * She’d taken it as a sign really, he’d had literally everything she wanted… and still she’d not been happy.
  * One night lays and guilt free hookups suited her life best. It was a logical conclusion, even if those weren’t what she _really_ wanted either.



##  **Tyreen**

  * Never had a relationship, and while she _does_ feel loneliness and depression regarding her situation often, she doesn’t crave relationships with other people.
  * It’s almost like **The Leech** is punishing her in some way. It’s _kind_ enough to leave her the negative feelings she can wallow in, but eats away any drive to resolve them unless the outcome would further her along the path to God-hood. 
  * There are times she wonders if her power is capable of wanting things, that it wants her to be unhappy.. but she shrugs those thoughts off when they creep into the back of her brain. They’re stupid anyway, it’s energy, condensed cosmic power she was born to wield, that’s all. Nothing _else_.
  * Something she takes great comfort from are online friendships. Ty can be anyone online, as invisible and unimportant as she wishes. It’s so easy to make a new account with a new name and just _talk_. Chat with people about total shit, like everyone else does. Like normal people do. 
  * There are a handful of forum and media sites she frequents that she has what _she_ would consider friends on, and she often winds down on them, discussing latest episodes of shows, _talking shit about Troy_ , reading up on shared recipes and ideas for soaps and oils, it’s nice. 
  * She’s not Ty there, and she’s learned that not being a God could in some way still be something enjoyable, though she always discards that realisation before it ever gets a chance to take root.



* * *

##  ** Platonic /Romantic relationships with them: **

* * *

##  ** Tyreen **

_Platonic_

  * ✓ Tyreen’s self confidence and ability to totally shrug off any negative situation due to her complete and total belief that she is fully in control, is _infectious_. She almost never drops her persona around close friends, and treats any worries as unfounded. _What_ exactly are they so beat up over anyway? Want to do something _fun?_ Just say the word, she can get _anything they want_.


  * X Drawing attention from her in any way can be quite literally dangerous. Tyreen needs to be treated like and viewed as the lead of any group, the influencer. If she feels her authority being threatened, or decides people like them a _little too much_ , just a bit more than she’s comfy with? They won’t be _friends_ much longer.



_Romantic_

  * ✓ Highly empathic and able to read the room like a _book_ , Ty is generally 2 steps ahead of them and is incredible at preempting problems that could pop up in the relationship. They won’t feel things are getting boring because she’ll have picked up on it before them. No chance of not getting enough attention, she’ll have noted and upped her efforts before they feel the first pang of worry


  * X Will. Not. Listen. To. ANYTHING. Won’t. If she disagrees, thinks they know less than her, or just plain isn’t in the mood, _anything_ they raise will be completely ignored. She literally doesn’t _hear_ it, she devotes so little of her attention to them during these times. It’s a major issue, because at the end of the day, which is the real Tyreen? The one who pays so much attention to their needs that they never even feel them… or the one who cares _so little_ about their opinion that she’ll walk out of a room as they speak.



##  ** Seifa **

_Platonic_

  * ✓ 100% a wingman for _anything they need_ , and will straight up tell them if they’re doing something stupid. Once they’re in her close friend circle they may as well be family, she doesn’t have any after all, so she doesn’t really see any difference. Sei is blunt, honest, and directly supportive. She’ll not sugarcoat bullshit she knows they need to be told, and if they still plan on proceeding? Well fuck it.. she’ll be there at their back. Just don’t come crying later when it turns out she was right. :)


  * X Can be quite dismissive without realising that’s what she’s doing. If Seifa is focusing on something high on her list of priorities, she can get snappy with friends. It’s not intentional and she’s not doing it to insult, her attention is just being used elsewhere, and her communication can become curt to the point of _ignorant_. They can easily feel brushed off by her, but she’ll generally make it up later with an echo-ping: “Sorry pal I was really, really swamped earlier. Want to meet up and talk proper? I have the brain space now, and I think I **owe you** a drink.. ”



_Romantic_

  * ✓ Loyal. Intensely loyal to the point of self sacrifice. Sei is completely monogamous and slots romantic partners into her top priority at all times. They come first before anything, including herself, and it’s one of the reasons she so rarely makes that leap and often prefers friends with benefits and meaningless flings. The level of vulnerability she offers someone she loves is unique to them, and something she doesn’t show _anyone_ else. It’s been very easy for her to get hurt, and each time she has been made her a little more cautious about letting someone become that important to her again.


  * X Can be irritable in general, and _not always_ for a justifiable reason. A moody Seifa is quiet, less interactive, sarcastic and negative. It can feel like she’s punishing her partner over something they may not have actually done, when she’s just frustrated about something totally unrelated. She’s aware of it and tries to communicate it in advance. If she tells them she needs alone time? It’s not personal. Just give it to her, and she’ll wrap her arms around their waist later and _thank them_.



##  ** Troy **

_Platonic_

  * ✓ Troy is an incredible listener, and forgets absolutely nothing they tell or show him. It doesn’t matter how minor the information, he’s got it now, and he’ll use it in some way to show them that he’s paying attention and values them enough to remember. He’ll parrot back their favorite song and that the band they like just released an album he got for them MONTHS after they mention it offhandedly, if they mention they need something for a deadline, it will appear, regardless of cost. He is effortlessly aware at all times of what they enjoy.


  * X It’s almost all _**fake**_. Troy mimics those around him and those he wants to be close to. Unless so close to him that he sees them as _family_ , it’s extremely unlikely they’ve ever had a conversation with **him** , and if they ask themself, they’ll realise they know absolutely nothing about God King Calypso.. except all the things they.. have _in common_.



_Romantic_

  * ✓ Selflessly affectionate. Troy has spent his whole adult life starved of love and actual care. He’s never been valued, and never felt safe enough with someone to show his vulnerable side. With a romantic partner ( _he’s never had one though he believes he’s fallen in love multiple times_ ), he will endlessly provide genuine closeness and physical care, and crave it in response. He puts more importance in being held and comforted than in anything they could ever buy him. They will feel more _wanted as a being_ than they’ve felt with anyone else they have ever known, and he will value them more than any other aspect of his life, including his own. **_It can be worrying._**


  * X His jealousy is a constant, genuine physical danger to those around them. While they may be able to help him deal with it in a less explosive way over time, it will never fade. His aggression towards people he feels give them too much attention, or are a threat to them choosing to stay with him, is volatile and unavoidable. He needs non stop reassurance about this, and God King Calypso will never spend a single night of his life with them where he doesn’t lay awake in the early morning, genuinely believing he doesn’t deserve them, and they will _leave one day._ It won’t matter how much they tell him they won’t, or how much they tell him how they feel, he will never, _ever_ feel _good enough._



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	29. DON'T.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Troy**

  * Most of his reactivity to disrespect / insult in public is fake, just playing along with the character role he’s been assigned. In reality there is _very little_ a random person could say to him to actually evoke a genuine response, because he just plain **doesn’t care enough** about other people for the shit they say to really get under his skin.
  * The exception is disrespectful /insulting language towards the few he does hold in high value. His parents, Ty, his Oracle, some of his Saints, people who may not see him as a _friend_ , but who _he_ sees as part of his inner echelon. The reaction to that is real, and less theatrical than the over the top physical punishments he’ll dole out to people who disrespect him when he’s in the public eye. _That’s_ for show. If someone threatens a person who he holds in value, or insults them? There’s no glittering sneer or snaps of clawed mechanical fingers to trigger cameras to shift to the God King… He just _shanks_ them.
  * **Cannot handle** Tyreen using parts of him he’d been forced to leave behind on Nekro in mockery. She used to do it to bite at him, knew it bristled his spines. She knows it’s a weak point between his armor plates when she’d call him DeLeon in a disgusted tone when they were alone, or bring up how he was _as much of a fuck up as dad_ , but she hasn’t done anything like that since it came to a head a few years ago.
  * They’d been arguing over something pointless through e-com message, he can’t even remember what. Frame design for the $100 + donation popups maybe. She’d been in a filthy mood, he’d been exhausted, and they’d sat for hours later that evening in a meeting about _stocks_ with a tight lipped asshole who’s voice could have put a rabid bullymong to sleep in seconds. Ty was snippy, looking for a fight still, and started namedropping, side eyeing him with a cruel grin as she found ways to work the digs into conversation the rest of the room was ignorant of:
  * “Oh I’d be _Leon_ ’ to myself if I didn’t agree this was a good idea! You really are a veritable ‘ _Bastion_ of professional advice, aren’t you sir.”
  * He’d been shaking in his seat, white knuckles clenched over the armrest, unable to respond to what they both knew were hidden twists of the knife to sate her boredom.. but Tyreen hadn’t expected the outcome.
  * In the back of her mind, Troy has always been a verbal punching bag, someone who can take and take and never _really_ snap. There is a level of safety with him she doesn’t have with anyone else, because no matter how enraged he is, or how deep she digs the blade, he’s never going to _hurt_ her. Except that night, he did.
  * She’d heard him stalk into her ship in the early AM and turned with a mouthful of rehearsed fake apologies, but been slammed into the wall behind her before she could even _react_ to the look of cold rage on his face. It was easy to forget how strong he was, how much larger than her he really was, till he was holding her by the front of her shirt nearly a foot of the ground without _any_ effort. She’d scratched at his hand and tried to gasp out a demand to be let go, but he’d silenced her with the deafening impact of his cybernetic into the hull next to her head, and a hissed warning to 
  * “Never fucking say that name again like that, Tyreen. **_Never_**. Mom gave me that, her pop’s name, and you made me come here and leave it all behind like it was a lie. Like I should be ashamed of it now, like it’s a _dirty secret_. The name dad gave me, the name mom gave me, both gone, I’ve got _NOTHING_ left of who I was here, you f-fucking nasty bitch.”
  * He’d dropped her with a growl, and Ty had tripped over her words, only managed to stutter half of what she’d planned to say as she scrambled to her feet from where he towered over her. She coughed out that she’d never meant it, that it just slipped out and hadn’t been on purpose, but he’d sneered at the clumsy attempt to placate him with lies. Made absolutely clear he didn’t _believe_ her.
  * She hasn’t done it since. Bringing up anything they left behind has been only done to reminisce, and even then rarely. Ty’d never admit to how threatened she had felt that night, it’s one of the few times she’s really _learned_ from a consequence.



##  **Seifa**

  * Verbally there is very little that can be said to Sei that shakes her, she’s too rigid in her own ego to _hugely_ care what other people say about her, but one thing she’s never, ever been able to defend herself against emotionally is the thing that gets muttered behind her back the _most_.
  * That she fucked her way into the success she’s achieved.
  * It’s not that she’s even against that idea, she personally couldn’t give a shit what other people do to get what they need out of life, its hard enough without grasping at every opportunity that presents itself.. it’s the fact that she _didn’t do it_ even when it was an option many times that upsets her **so much.**
  * It’s an immediate removal of all the work, the pain, the struggle she’s gone through just to earn a name for herself, and the fact that people believe it so easily? It cuts _SO_ deep. People close to her are aware it’s a major weak point, and it helps that they know it’s not true. Friends in high places work well for quashing the whispers of envious priests, but even though slandering a Saint is punishable _viciously_ , the rumors persist, and there are nights when she can’t pretend it doesn’t eat her alive anymore.
  * She’s not quite as strong emotionally as she wishes she was.
  * **_Physically_** , for all her bravado and practiced intimidation in communication, Seifa panics if grabbed. Her reaction to being restrained or pushed against a wall, pinned, is completely out of her control and something she’s ashamed of. She can’t maintain her act, can’t keep up the confidence, her throat tightens and limbs get shaky, and it’s incredibly clear visually that her the situation is no longer something she’s capable of handling. 
  * She’s tried to practice this fear away, but after years of struggling has come to accept it as a mental betrayal she can’t prevent. Unless she’s close with the person, physical intimidation - even unintended, hits her harder than most people would ever expect from someone so _apparently_ rock solid.



[(Art source)](https://www.billelis.com/art#/-demonic-explorations-/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	30. Make a wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Troy**

  * He works in a repair shop, the old mechanic pays him more in knowledge than cash, but that’s fine. He lives above the shop rent free, he has no complaints.
  * The man calls him “DeLeon” and slaps his back a little harder than Troy would like sometimes, tells him he “Did a great job, kid!” and he smiles when it happens, because it eases the sting _just a little_. It’s a hug from someone who’s not good at showing affection, it’s appreciated. It’s understood.
  * He’s _not a Siren_ and he’s not sick. He’s toned, lean, his skin is warm and tanned from working in the sun. He made a new arm for the days he needs it in the shop. 
  * His employer says it’s a piece of shit, but he sees the looks he gives it when he thinks Troy isn’t watching. Sees the pride.
  * His home isn’t huge but it’s perfect. 2 floors, a rigged together ladder separating them because stairs took up too much space and he always _liked_ ladders. It’s filled with rugs and blankets and succulents, little green gems of plants hanging in terracotta pots from his ceiling, attached to jumbled together scrap wire and coloured glass he’s decorated it with.
  * It smells like sandalwood and engine oil. He painted his windows with fingers smeared with enamel in colours that remind him of Nekrotafeyo, and when the sun hits just right it really **is** home.
  * His friends make fun of him and he sends it right back. They mock him constantly in the shop together, but he’s always the first tech invited for a poker night, or to have lunch shared.
  * He’s very happy, and he’s very whole. People tell him he’s easy to be around, that he makes others feel safe. It’s a compliment and he takes it.
  * He beds people he _likes_ who _like him_ and that’s perfect. There is no expectation of living up to a reputation, no need to perform. 
  * He wakes up hungry and goes to sleep tired. Most days are the same, there is no danger or surprise, there is no worry. He can buy things he wants if he saves a little.
  * Sometimes his bed feels a _little_ too big to be alone in at night, but that’s ok. If someone ever loves him that would be nice. He doesn’t need it though. He’s _himself_ , and happy in that.



##  **Tyreen**

  * She’s married, the wedding was massive. Hundreds of attendees all so happy for her, all amazed at how beautiful she was that day. He’s tall and handsome and his eyes are blue. Not the same blue as hers, but still blue. When he looks at her she sees devotion reflected in them, devotion to her, not something… _else_.
  * She’s a kept woman in the lap of luxury, no need to act, no need to work, just time for herself and to spend with her good friends.
  * She’s never alone, her chats ping constantly with updates, what her companions are up to, check ins for how she’s doing, echo-links to new recipes and silly videos they saw and thought of her.. they like her very much. They like who _she_ is, the real her. People like Tyreen so much they want to spend time with her and chat with her and she is never sad or lost or confused. She’s very loved. 
  * She loves herself too.
  * Everything about her works perfectly. Nothing is wrong with any of her. Her body is functional and strong, soft and warm, her hands _feel_ , her tongue _tastes_.
  * Her house is filled with sunlight and paintings, she’s not good but that’s never stopped her. She has a garden where she _tries_ to grow vegetables. They look awful but they taste great. She cooks a _lot_. They dine out a _lot_. He’s very rich, she can have everything she wants.
  * She deserves it.



##  **Seifa**

  * A life somewhere warm where it rains every night and the air gets cool and heavy. Where you can smell the storms approach before you feel the prickle in the air, and the sun dries rocks so quickly you can hear the quiet popping sizzle of water running through their cracks in the heat.
  * She doesn’t need money because she’s not being relied on. Staying alive isn’t a constant competition anymore, it’s not a race. She can just.. walk. Enjoy it. No more scrambling for holds when the weight of your responsibilities to others are like stones around your neck.
  * She doesn’t have to leave, she can stay there as long as she likes. _Settle_. She has a home instead of a ship, foundations and dust that’s solid and unmoving. Her friends are flesh and blood instead of ghostly echo icons of a companion so far away she can’t even see the speck of the planet they are orbiting from her sky.
  * A man loves her who’s clever and witty and reliable. Maybe a _little_ stupid, she likes men like that. She can be vulnerable with him, he’s strong enough for the both of them. She can be soft. Open. The hard shell she survives under isn’t needed anymore. She can just be herself.
  * Maybe she’s a mom, maybe she’s not. Maybe she made some awful dirty little toddler from scratch inside her, maybe she’s just _called_ mom by some kids who really needed one. Anything’s good, this is a life that welcomes it either way.
  * Her house is filled with projects and gems. It’s neat and clean, organised. He paints murals on their walls and she picks flakes of plaster out of his hair. It’s both of them, faults and accomplishments, crafted into a place to live.
  * The flat rock just outside stays hot well into the cooling night air, and she can lay on it and stargaze. Tell stories to whoever’s there. Friends, her love, those awful kids. She can shut up and just listen to them too. Doesn’t need to be in charge here. Can let other people take up the slack. Can just…
  * Be Seifa. Relax.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	31. Regrets (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Tyreen -** Mid COV

Regardless of how much of herself The Leech has eaten away, how difficult it is for her to remember what empathy felt like or the way feeling sadness for another person burned the back of your eyes and throat in a way you could never really sooth, Tyreen will _never_ forget how much she regrets lying to Troy about Pandora.

It’s not the being here she regrets, I mean, things turned out incredibly. _Look_ at them, Godhood is their _**destiny**_ … it’s remembering that first week planetside. Remembering the slash of that glass bottle across her face, or the _scream_ that was either Troy’s or the Bandit’s she husked in defense for the first time as both twins stared on in horror, or sitting in that rancid filthy shack, watching her brother _die_.

Ty hadn’t been sick in so long that she couldn’t recall what it felt like anymore, and Troy? Well, he was sick all the time, but _nothing_ like this. This was disease ripping through a body with no protection, no immune system grown over a lifetime to fight it _back_. Neither of them had considered what illnesses would be waiting on a planet they’d never visited after all, they’d no medical experience bar what the ancient E-Doc onboard droid on Dad’s old ship had been able to share from databases so corrupt with age that it barely functioned anymore.

She’d sat with him for 2 days, completely helpless, terrified. Watching him vomit up blood streaked bile and gasp for air between painful retching spams, nothing left in his stomach bar the water she’d try and force into him every hour. Not even clean water just.. muddy filth, but it was all she could find in the barren wasteland of those flats. She’d scrabble out into the desert every couple of hours when he’d lose consciousness again, and find anything she could leech. Dry half dead plants, insects, mangled roadkill still dragging in twitchy breaths, _anything_ she could pump back into him and hope he’d heal.

He didn’t. 

Troy would wake and be incoherent, rapidly flip between spewing _hate_ at her for _MAKING HIM COME HERE_ when he’d told her so clearly it was a stupid fucking idea, when he’d **said** they would die… and begging her to forgive him. Apologising, reaching out to shakily grasp at his sister’s hand as he stumbled over his words and tried to let her know how _sorry_ he was that it hadn’t worked, that the natives had rejected them. It was his fault. He hadn’t researched, he hadn’t written her dialogue right… his script let them down.. he’d..

She never forgives herself for the betrayal of what she did to him, even _years_ later. 

God Queen Tyreen still wakes up some nights remembering the stink of his blood and vomit and sweat in that shack, and those are the mornings he finds poorly prepared breakfast ready on his kitchen table, or a scrawled note that seems so out of character - _thanking him_. 

Genuine, heartfelt words reminding him how much she loves her twin… Even though she _forgets so quickly after_.

##  **Seifa -** Pre COV

She left friends to die once.

Well, not “ _friends”_ friends. Not like the friends she’s grown over time since, but people still. Living people who’d expected her to protect their backs even though she’d been clear that wasn’t going to happen, that if shit went south she was _gone_. It had, and she’d done exactly as she said, but their _faces_ … man.

She’s alive and they aren’t. That’s how it goes. That’s the long game.

She can’t remember their second names but she remembers what they looked like. Bavi and Cass, pair of small time smugglers she’d run trades with for a couple of years, played poker with, shared leads with… They’d convinced her this was a good call. She’d said it hadn’t been. They’d argued there was nothing to worry about, she’d told them there was.

She’d gone along anyway. Stupid kid, barely 20. Idiot. She’d gone along because they told her they needed her skills, when what they actually needed was a gun behind them and someone a hell of a lot more competent than Seifa.

She’d told them it would go sour, she’d tried to catch their attention from the corner of their eyes as they buttered up the supplier they were keen to fleece, despite his companions subtly moving to palm their guns.

She’d tried, they hadn’t listened, so she’d walked. Cut her losses there and then just before that powder keg ignited and she’d go down with them. They’d turned to pay attention _far too late_ , shock and betrayal on their faces as the door closed behind her with one final glance.

She’d heard the gunshots before she made it to her ship.

But she’s alive and they aren’t. That’s how it goes. That’s the long game.

##  **Troy -** Late COV

A million faceless, nameless people have suffered directly under God King Calypso in one way or another. He’s done horrific things, and he’s allowed even worse ones to take place.

In the back of his mind, there is _usually_ a kind of excuse. They wanted it, or they themselves had done terrible things, or he truthfully wouldn’t have been able to stop Tyreen anyway, or _that’s just how Pandora is_ , or…

The few things he cannot excuse are the ones that haunt him. The real failures, the real shame. Troy will never, for the entirety of his life, forgive himself for Jak-Knife, Ven, or Sei. It won’t matter how much they reassure him. It won’t matter if one day the tightness in their eyes when they reminisce about the original COV softens, he will _take it to his grave._

Not just the slow trauma he knows he is responsible for regardless of how things had been, the abuse, the stress, the constant push for more and more from people who were already breaking themselves trying to give everything they could, but what happened _after_ that. The visceral failures that are entirely his fault.

Jak-Knife’s annointment… God. That had been meant to **help**. That had been meant to soothe burns and bolster a body into a fortress to match the soul inside, that had been meant to be a _gift_ , and he’d done what instead? Tortured one of the most loyal beings he had ever known with a slow, agonising corruption.

Ven? He’d known. He’d seen the signs the Oracle couldn’t, and still he’d not kept him underwing. Troy should have been a towering wall between Tyreen and Ven at all times, he _knew_ he should have and yet he’d still travelled to Athenas without him. Had left him behind, unprotected and vulnerable in the Grand Cathedral. Ty had been a predator stalking the shadows of those halls, keen eyes watching for a weak link, an _opportunity_.. and Troy had practically dropped his friend into her waiting claws. One stupid, pointless, OBVIOUS mistake and it had been his Ven that had suffered for Troy’s distraction.

Seifa? He catches her sometimes, out of the corner of his vision. The sadness as she stares at those scars on his neck. Her unspoken concern towards him. The whispered care to JK and Ven every time they meet, just before the smiles settle root and everything feels right. She’s still carrying wounds for everyone, he can see it even if she can’t, and _Troy_ caused the injuries. 

She regrets _for_ him.

He remembers Leda apologising on those nights where his ribs burned and the mangled tissue along his right ached from growth spurts it couldn’t keep up with. He remembers _her_ feeling at fault, like _she’d_ made the cuts that disfigured him for the rest of his life.

He see’s that in Seifa, and he regrets becoming his father after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	32. Family and loss - Seifa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

### Mid COV

Sei is very unsure how she’s managed to end up as the “adult” one in a group of people who aren’t that far off her own age, because she honestly considers herself pretty childish. 

You mature _fast_ in the kind of life she’s had, but Seifa was always the one in her crew making the terrible jokes people rolled eyes at, or collecting trinkets and mementos others told her she should have grown out of, she was the idiot decorating the interior of her ship in colours and patterns that weren’t _adult_ or _refined_ but made her happy, so she feels like most of her “ **cold n’capable** ” reputation isn’t actually the truth. 

That’s just part of her act, really. A step in the long game.  
  
The _real_ her is open and friendly, easily hurt or befriended in equal measure, and not very close _at all_ to the cool headed snarky asshole that she fronts daily in her role within the COV.

So finding herself in deep friendships with people who are, well, so _naive_ in different ways? It feels off sometimes. It can be _irritating_. She’s asked advice she’s not even sure she understands in the first place, she’s treated like she has answers when she’s actually just bullshitting on the fly from years of practice. It makes her feel fake, itches a reminder in the back of her mind that she’s not _quite_ as well travelled and savvy as she pretends, and it can end up with her being unexpectedly snappy with a friend who was only looking for support from someone _they_ think can help them.

It’s not that she’s angry with _them_ , but her temper is notoriously short and sometimes the

> “` _How the hell do they not KNOW this, why the fuck are they asking ME_`“ 

\- gets louder in the back of her mind than she’d be proud to admit. Her logical brain reminds her these people did not even have a childhood for the most part. She got to grow through a harsh and formative one, but the others?  
  
Ven and Eli… Ven and Eli were thrown into being adults when they never even **got** to be kids. They are some confused mix of naivety and street smarts, they’ll ask you what tax is, then ten seconds later let you know the best place to stretch $5 on a 2 course meal in the slums is. Oh how do they know? Cos’ Eli helped out the owner’s kid a couple of years back by dropping info to Ven about some gang activity happening on specific nights he was getting embroiled in. They sorted it out without it needing to reach the Vanguard patrols, now they get noodle bowls at 1/3 price. Easy!

Jak-Knife is an ancient soul with wisdom and compassion that is _unfathomable_ , in a mind that can’t read or write. They sometimes need to ask for help with basic tasks alien to their upbringing, they are someone you can find sleeping in a reinforced nest on top of a disused hangar and who can tell you when it’s going to rain 10 minutes in advance by _tasting_ the air… but who doesn’t understand what bleach is. Or why they need to listen to pain instead of working through it, or that what they believe to be weakness is _survival_ outside of the wilds their clan marauded through.

The God Twins?

The twins…

Fuck. Where can she even **start**.   
  
It just, it gets on top of her sometimes. _She_ wants to be looked after. _She_ wants to be held and reassured. She wants to be able to come to people for help and vent her weaknesses and sob on their shoulders, but she can’t… because that’s not her _role_ in this family. Is it.  
  
She loves them all, she cares so much, and them trusting her enough to value her opinions the way they do is something she’s never had before but.. she’s _tired_ sometimes. She’s cranky, she lashes out at them, and the disappointment in their eyes just makes things worse.

There are days they just can’t seem to get in contact with Sei, and she’d _never_ let them know it’s on purpose.

* * *

  
  


### Late COV

She’s not on ” **I remember their birthdays** “ levels of familiarity, but she’s absolutely on ” **I haven’t spoken to him in 6 months and he just sent me an email that only said _bitch_** “ levels of friendship with twenty-ish members of Boss’s crew, though her closeness levels do vary between them. Some feel like estranged siblings, some like colleagues, but she has a surprisingly large support network of long term trust to fall back on for someone who appears to be so self reliant.

Boss himself is someone she might only touch base with once a year, or if either needs to call in a favor like ask for contact details for connections, but she’s _always_ known if anything went wrong, if she needed to, there is a dock space and a hammock in a matchbox cubby waiting for her.

She’s considered that fact many times over the years… how welcoming the idea felt, but the tattoo on her back removed any real choice she had. Unless she left the COV on good terms - _something she can’t fathom possibly happening for a Saint when anyone carrying a twin’s sigil has sworn lifelong fealty-_ she couldn’t go back. There is _no home there_ anymore, she’d destroy it the moment she set foot.

If she ran, if she fled to them and looked for help in arms she knew would welcome her, she’d be signing their death sentences. The wolves would be unleashed the second her post in the Holy City was abandoned, and they’d hunt her across the galaxy till she and _everyone who’d sheltered her_ were made public examples of.

It wouldn’t matter who she was to the God Twins, there are laws that cannot be bent no matter _who_ it is that breaks them. Two Saints faced the consequences for failing in their position and disgracing their patron God in COV’s recent years already, she can’t have _her_ mistake end up hurting people she cares about by following their lead.  
  
 **That means that when Seifa _does_ eventually run… she doesn’t abandon her position. **

It’s the only option she has that she thinks will give an excuse for them to _not_ set the Crusaders at her throat. It means she can’t run very far, and she can’t _stop_ being who she has to be, but she can get away at least. She can save herself from the fall they all know is coming, and she can breath for the first time in months without the weight of Troy’s pain and Tyreen’s _hate_ crushing her chest.

She spends the first 2 months sleepless and exhausted, reading over updates from her friends, being ignored while trying to convince Troy that he can’t entirely blame himself the way she knows he already is, reassuring Ven and Eli she’s ok and begging them to explain to JK she didn’t want to leave them, reassuring her colleagues and senior engineers left behind in the Mechanicum without their Saint. A hundred burdens Seifa can’t ignore.  
  
She’s ruined, a twitchy wreck staring at the entrance of her quarters every night. Shivering as she waits for the slams, the crunch of heavy boots as the door slides open, and for Jak-Knife’s skull masked Vanguard to prowl out of the darkness and into the cell she exiled herself into. Rat in a trap, no way out.

As time goes on, she starts to finally realise the twins _haven’t_ made the order, the Crusaders aren’t coming, and she can live _for now_ at least… 

…but she has _no idea_ what to do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	33. Makes the world go round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

##  ** Troy **

  * Extremely high level understanding of budget, cash flow, stocks, what _money is_ and _how it works_ that almost rivals Solomon’s, but has no actual **value** for it.
  * Cannot comprehend the difference other people see between him covering a take out tab or dropping $2-3 million on a random gift for them he’s kept in mind they wanted.
  * Doesn’t get it, it’s all just money? It’s infinite. It has no value in comparison to seeing someone he _likes_ be happy or gasping in shock at what he bought them. That has value, the $$ numbers don’t.
  * He couldn’t spend it faster than they earn, Sol has made sure of that considering how much of the COV’s funds are invested, how many digits are in their _hourly returns_. Troy has claws in ownership of planets he’s never even heard of, he has majority shares in companies in other galaxies who’s name he won’t ever see. Money means _nothing._
  * He is however, absolutely bizarre about _how_ he spends it.
  * He’ll drop a billion on some philanthropical bullshit, he’ll see 9 zeros next to a growth related purchase he’ll sign off on, but he won’t buy a new coffee machine.
  * His junked together piece of shit in his Sanctum is nearly a decade old. It fucking electrocutes him half the time he goes to use it, but it’s _still there_.
  * Eli get’s nervous around it and politely declines a brew because of uh.. his _heart_ , yeah. Ty has told him it’s going to explode one day. Sei has told him it’s going to explode one day. Ven has **told** him it’s **going** to explode one day. Jk?
  * Jk pauses every time they see it, then bursts into hysterical laughter and slaps him on the back. Nods like they are sharing some kind of joke he’s never understood, but he plays along.
  * Why would he buy a new one? It’s not about the money, it’s like.. why would he replace something that works?
  * You don’t _replace_ something just because it’s a bit broken or it hurts you sometimes or there is a good chance it’s going to blow up one day.
  * It’s working, it’s doing what it’s meant to do.. you don’t _replace_ things like that… _right_?



##  ** Tyreen **

** **

## 

##  ** Seifa **

  * Has an iron grasp of actual cash value what with being able to calc exactly how many lightyears she can buy with a spare change handful or breaking down by weight profits on major storage deals, but she’s not good with like.. stocks. Or, investments. Or _making money out of money_.
  * That shit always felt like magic to her, and it’s one of the reasons she has such a high opinion of Sol, regardless of their personality clashes. Sei can show you how to make $10 last a week and come out of it with a profit, but she goes cross eyed if she’s shown % value charts.
  * She’s weird with money. Sei is extremely frugal to the point of obsession, though regardless of what’s actually in her accounts ( _and she knows what’s in her accounts to the penny at **all times**_ ), she’s always surprisingly willing to bail someone out of a small loan or debt. Has no problem buying things that need to be bought and making sure she doesn’t skimp, but will also do things like use auto timers on lights so she doesn’t forget to leave them on. It’s odd to experience. We’re talking hand washing half of her own dishes because “The washer uses electricity and this is fine”, while pulling in _a Saint’s salary_. Most people find the disconnect odd, she doesn’t even notice.
  * She’s never in debt, taking loans or “help” is an absolute last option for her and she will pay that shit back as a first priority, she’ll go hungry rather than owe a day longer than she needs to. A survival skill that’s served her well and she’s too far into to drop now.
  * Sei has a _very invasive_ and inappropriate habit of noting **other people’s** debts without even realising she’s doing it. Why are you buying that now if you still owe $300 to Al down on the dock end? Wait a week. You don’t _need_ it. No, _she’ll_ get this tab, you need to save. It’s not coming from any kind of bad place, it’s automatic. She’s hyper aware of cash flow and balances _all the time_ and can’t switch off.
  * This can cause arguments that she can’t see her fault in because she’s _helping_ and you’re being irresponsible. She’ll apologise if you want and it won’t happen again, but she will still _see_ , and still remember without meaning to.
  * It might be best to not discuss finances with her unless you want her help, she can’t pretend to not care.
  * Doesn’t forget anything she’s owed. She’ll hand over money without a second thought if you need it, but if you _say you’re going to pay it back_? Holy fuck you better. PAL YOU BETTER. WHERE’S HER $5 FROM 3 WEEKS AGO VEN?? **VEN**.
  * Has a hell of a lot less money than people expect considering how much she sends off planet, but she still doesn’t scrimp too much on herself. She may not buy _much_ , but she buys quality, and the few outfits she owns are _nice_ even if she’s had them years.
  * Prefers silver and simple gems / shells / glass over gems and gold anyway. Anything highly valuable she owns was a misguided gift from Troy that she _adores_ but just never really feels comfortable wearing.
  * She’s not platinum and diamonds, she’s glass and silver. _That’s_ her.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	34. Guilty pleasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** Troy **

  * _Vanishing_.
  * It’s very hard to do. It’s gotten harder as the years have gone by, but Troy doesn’t _sleep_ very much even if he’s feeling relatively well, and the lonely nights can be long and _boring_. 
  * Something he desperately missed within the first year of living on Pandora, was **surviving** on Nekrotafeyo.
  * There is a gentle simplicity to scaling rock-faces and moving through grass thickets, flinting a fire and cooking something small and bony you slingshotted. It was his life for 12 years after Mom died, and he just.. _dropped it_. He had to stop it so quickly, so completely, it was like whiplash.
  * God King Calypso can’t mingle with a crowd, he can’t _not_ be seen, so the opportunities to make his way into the wilderness became less and less possible as time went on and people began to swarm him in public. 
  * At night though? When the city is half asleep? He can climb out of his Sanctum’s airlock and make his way along the Cathedral’s gothic balconies to the shuttle-bike he keeps tarped and docked in a never visited alcove along the south face.
  * He rarely _does much_ on these nights to himself. 
  * Walks, climbs, lays on his back in the soft dust and watches the stars, tracing the constellations with a metal limb that he can almost pretend is someone else’s. It’s refreshing, it’s quiet, and it’s _all him_. 
  * Just Troy De'Leon and his pocketknife by a campfire he scraped together out of rocks and silence.



##  ** Seifa **

  * Nasty, grudge holding, vicious little shit that she is, there’s _nothing_ that pulls her out of a shitty mood more than corking open a bottle of priceless wine courtesy of an offering from some ass-licking sponsor, booting up her e-dev, and checking up on people who slighted her in the past.
  * She has a long mental blacklist for traders who insulted her, peers who looked down on her, people who spread shit behind her back, hell, it doesn’t even need to have been a serious thing.
  * Someone who insulted her looks while they were slur drunk in a dive bar will find themselves on it, and she **DELIGHTS** in wallowing in their suffering.
  * Oh, Agatha on Venta-45’s struggling with the latest tax hike eating into her barely functional profits on that godawful ore supply station she told Sei to “Stop embarrassing herself” during a negotiation on? Haha. _**SHAME**_.
  * How’s Sylan and Kro doing? Divorced? _Wowwww_ who would have seen _that_ coming.
  * It’s so petty. It’s so fucking sad, Saint of the Mechanicum squatting on her artisanal rakk-down armchair in scruffy pajamas, cackling like a witch at people who almost _definitely_ know how successful she is now and haven’t been as blessed by their own skill? 
  * Oh _shut up_. It’s fun. 
  * They deserve it anyway.



* * *

##  ** Troy **

  * A lifetime of lust towards a persona that wasn’t him has left him pretty much deaf to praise and almost _bored_ of most obscenity, but get under his skin and close to his heart enough, and they can have him _dripping_ without so much as a touch.
  * Body worship worded towards Troy, not the God King, praise based on strength and kindness, or how gentle he’s being when almost every part of him is so capable of _killing_? **Decimates him.**
  * Praise who he actually is, _want_ what’s under the bracer and behind the cool eyes, and he’ll eat out of the palm of their hand, beg at their throat. Want him for **him** , and watch him unravel without needing to lay a finger on his skin.



##  ** Seifa **

  * Giving physical submission to someone very capable of harming her. Sei has a _lot_ of mental hangups about being strongly handled, she’s almost always on edge and aware of how quickly a conversation on Pandora can turn into real danger, so being able to completely trust who she’s with that it _won’t happen_?
  * Loves it, can drop the cocky act, lose the faux confidence, and let someone she trusts to never hurt her be as strong and dominant as he wants. 
  * She’s always been massively attracted _to_ physical strength and size while painfully wary of it. Always been a delicious trade off in the bedroom, and if it’s topped with loving aftercare from him later? 10/10. 
  * She’ll owe him one, and Sei _always pays her debts_.



(Art source - [https://www.behance.net/billelis)](https://www.behance.net/billelis)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	35. Keep your friends close...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

(ft [@godkingsanointed](https://godkingsanointed.tumblr.com/) ‘s Jak-Knife and [@hieroglyphix](https://hieroglyphix.tumblr.com/) ‘s Eli + Ven)

* * *

Troy, yes. Seifa, no.  
  
Sei learns who people are through years of experience in seeing through an act.

Troy learns it by _vivisecting your past_.

His laid back attitude around his selected staff initially is a complete fucking farce. He knows more about any of them than he’ll let them understand till they piece it together over time and begin to see how little privacy they’d had all along.

It’s hand in hand with how he lets people get to know him in general: the mimicry, the fake persona to match their own. It takes a _while_ for people who work for Troy to realise they don’t know this man _at all_ , but he knows a hell of a lot more about them than they are comfortable with, slimy little bastard that he is.

Ven and Jak-Knife to some extent, but not on the same level of near sinister obsession as with his media team / high priests / full Saint staff. He would have been all gormless ego, easy practiced laughter and arrogance around Ven when he made his first introduction to the twins, but Troy would be picking apart every hint.

Clothes, scuffs, the vitiligo, how the arm socketed into his shoulder, if there were visible ports, _anything_ he could use to run back-tracing after and find out _where_ this smarmy fuck really came from… and which company it had been _this time_ that had destroyed a childhood.

JK no need, not with them. Honest, clear in intention and covered in evidence of their own truth. No need to dig into their history to find who they _really_ are, he could tell. Same way he could smell the ozone of a Class-M20 labour vessel’s quad core drives on them alone at the desert campfire that quiet night and **knew** who they were working with. Same way he knew they were truthful in what they said, but maybe they hadn’t been _saying_ everything.

He has files and files on Sanctuary 3, the Raiders, _the bar owner_ , the same way he has folders full of Crimson Lance reports on the atrocities they committed in the name of law.

As for Seifa, she’d .. love to? She just doesn’t have _the resources._

Ven she wouldn’t trust as far as she could throw, and she’d barely be able to lift him. JK, is false relaxation hanging off a physical stance ready to slit a throat at the drop of a pin. She saw that straight away and wasn’t willing to lower her guard around them for quite some time.

She’d have fucking _loved_ to dig deep, trace their tracks, but people on Pandora don’t _have_ logged history to fall back on in the ways she knows how to. She’d know how to pull merchant info, ship crew and cargo manifests, arena logs, anywhere they would have popped up if they’d interacted in the world _she_ knows.

She’d have barely anything on Ven, some off city Cyclone track wins, couple of reports of disturbing the peace in settlements, other then that, he and Eli appeared out of nowhere on Pandora, and it’s just not enough info for her to use to get a handle on them.

JK is even worse. No way to distinguish them from their clan, just reports of scuffles with towns folk, caravan attacks, the usual, with no way to even know if it _was_ them.

She does have a fair amount of filth on some of the more _off-planet_ higher staff, they were messy, they’ve left _trails_ of dox info and histories - sordid sometimes, perfect for dropping casually when you need to give them just a little push. Some are untouchable though, you wouldn’t consider snooping into Sol’s logs.. not uh.. not worth the risk.

Troy has the skill in this, in _slicing into secrets_. Sei’s all about data.

* * *

Oh he cops it literally immediately. _Is that not exactly what HE did?_

They aren’t from here. They aren’t from anywhere they say they are from. Eli is _dying_ and there are no medical logs on 6 main systems he’s accessed that match any of his conditions… similar ones.. yes.. from a sparse group of near same-aged people recently ( `~~documented and saved as interest~~` ), but nothing for Eli’s youth, nothing to explain him being alive here now.

It all adds up. Ven wasn’t some willing guinea pig who’d ended up shafted post experiment and had to drop his identity and run like he’d said, shrugging it off like it was one of those stories you hear in dive bars about underground experiments and drunk idiots down on their luck who needed a few dollars…. he’d _never had an identity_.

Everything was off. The same mistakes in social graces and body language Troy himself struggled so much with - learned far too fast and still being practiced. The same easy lies and misdirection when asked about their pasts.. it’s _all the same_.

Ven doesn’t know how close he and Eli really are to the origins Troy has worked **very hard** to keep hidden for himself and Tyreen.   
  
He can’t view Siren touched threads through his future sight well, they are fuzzy, confused, impossible to grasp and follow clearly when he slips into the space behind his eyes and tries to flow along the streams of possible outcomes to find them.   
  
He’s probably lucky that’s the case when he first approaches the God Twins in the early COV… might not have taken the risk if he had been able to see ahead clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	36. Refuge (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

(Featuring [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw) ‘s amazing OC JK)

__

###  _Mid COV_

* * *

“There’s a H… _there **.**_ " 

Seifa tapped a black nail into the paper Jak-Knife was staring at so intently their mask’s front grill brushed against the page. They let out a rumbling groan, slowly shaking their head side to side as she reassuringly patted their hand, leaning pressed against the length of their back so she could peer down at the scrawled letter splayed on the table in front of them.

"A **H**? _Why_??” they whined, cupping the sides of their head in calloused hands with a dejected sigh. Words were _stupid_.

It had been a long day for both of them.

Sei had only just made it to her ship after a night of red tape and managing delays in her office below. Tyreen’s Saints had _incredible_ skill in somehow making sure their daily business ended up impacting Troy’s in some way. Missing shipments, deadlines shifted far shorter than possible with no warning, the usual shit. She’d sat for hours after her shift, gritting her teeth while pouring through their condescending e-coms, pausing every now and then to distract herself from the frustration by catching flashes of today’s arena stream.

The Blight Devil had ripped through raiders on the flickering office screen as her papers shuffled. Heretics who’d led an assault on a protected settlement and refused to repent now faced the Holy Father’s executioner, a fitting end to parasites sucking lifeblood from the isolated villages the COV kept in food and medical supplies.

She’d found them after the fight as she left her office that night, leaning silently against the elevator gate in the lower workshop that lead to her ship docked above the Mechanicum. Head bowed and tilted to the side, ankles crossed and arms folded across their chest. They were spotless as usual, arena blood expertly removed from their skin, but the weight of the fight was visible on their frame - _tired_ and quiet.

They’d perked out of their doze as she approached, and lifted a bag filled with something hot and spicy from the Slums as a greeting. JK was always like this. They had as much an open invitation to her home as the others, but while she’d retire some nights and find Ven and Eli already smiling cheekily from her kitchen table and expecting dinner to appear now that she’d gotten home, or Troy curled up asleep in the same tiny wall cot that she’d told him _was his_ years ago, JK _never_ entered without her.

Always waited by the elevator with offering in hand, a gift of food or beer like an olive branch. Habit, she figured. Something from a life of survival in Pandora’s roaming clans she’d maybe never understand, but she could appreciate even though she reassured them it wasn’t needed _every single time._

She could tell they were struggling to keep going now still, heavy muscle shifting under her ribs as they groaned at the letter covered in smudged ink between their elbows on the kitchen table, muttering about the rogue “H” through their mask’s respirator.

Words made no damn sense, even _less_ when they were marked down in writing.

Bandit cant had always served JK well, icons, symbols, communication scratched into rocks and dirt and corpses with the tips of jagged blades. _Writing_ was pointless, they’d been told that for as long as they could remember. Adults in their clan had mocked newcomers to Pandora, said their big words and fancy letters were just to hide behind. A mask without a mask, so they could pretend they were better, stronger than the salt and blood of the earth that crawled across the planet’s dusty wastes in scavenging mobs.

You didn’t _need_ to write or read when your family could respond like a singular pack unit to bird whistles or rhythmic pounding on dry rock. Learning would be a waste of time and resources better used to serve the marauding horde.

This H was a waste. The flimsy, golden pen clutched in their calloused fist was a waste, a symbol of wealth, education, of _weakness_ on Pandora. If it hadn’t been a gift, they’d…

“Because without the H it says tanks. Like, war-machines, you know?” Seifa laughed, pushing against them to her feet and shooting a deadeye finger gun at their chest with a silent _pow_ as she back stepped to her side of the table.

“But gotta say, that looks like a _love letter_ , JK” she grinned, lowering herself into her seat with an ungraceful thump.

“..She a fan of tanks?”

They huffed quietly, refusing to meet the shit-eating grin they knew she was aiming at them as she shuffled the papers in front of her and leaned back into her chair with a creak of wood.

“She likes tanks, yeah. She.. likes _all_ weapons. All machines. Makes ‘em, fixes 'em..” they murmured as Seifa clicked her tongue in response, wolf whistling.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

“She’s… _my_ kind of woman.” Jk replied through a crackling laugh, scratching the pen against the paper with practiced concentration. “She should have nice things like.. _letters_. She should have poems, songs.. chants… and thank you.” they looked up, catching Sei’s inquisitive gaze “Thank you for helping me.” She followed their hand, gesturing towards the paper with a blunt finger.

Sei laughed, smoothing loose hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t thank me, pal. I think if anything, I’m using _you_ as a distraction..” she sighed, expression turning somber as she dropped the stack of papers to the table in front of her, grimacing. 

“This jank is terrible.”

“Words?” they offered, lenses catching the light as their eyes followed her when she stood. 

“Nah JK, _numbers_ ” she scoffed, rolling sore shoulders as she stepped towards the kitchen counter to their side. “WAY worse. Listen, want to try something gross?” the chair struggling to support their bulk squeaked behind her as JK turned to face the cupboard she was rooting through. “I got this new coffee..- _somewhere.. where is.._ \- Ahh!”

“I _like_ coffee, sure!” they chuckled with a nod, thumping their fist onto the little table the pair had been sharing in her ship’s kitchen

“This coffee though - ” she corrected smugly “ _This coffee_ has been shit out of some horrible little monkey thing on Eden-2” she smirked, stifling a giggle in response to the barking guffaw that erupted behind her.

“ **WHAT** ” they yelled through the muffle of the mask’s filters, deep voice cracking in amusement.

Sei turned, waving the foil bag towards them playfully as she leaned back against the counter.

“I’m not joking, gift from an ore dealer me and Ven had to sweet talk into _very generous_ trade agreements on Astrensis a month ago. I don’t know if he was trying to _impress_ me or what, but this is basically worth its weight in platinum and it’s-”

“ - It’s _shit juice!_ ” JK gasped between rolling belly laughs.

“It’s fuckin’ shit juice pal, you’re not wrong!” she chuckled, smile wrinkling across her nose as she flipped the coffee maker’s switch, grinning softly as the clunky hiss of the machine filled the little kitchen quarters.

Jk sighed happily behind her, twisting to stare at their paper again. “Rich people are so _wrong_. They don’t belong, not here, waste everything. Just walking sacks of ego thinking their paper money will stop this place taking its due from 'em”. They grunted thoughtfully, then continued in a quieter tone.

“I thought _you_ were a rich person when we first met, another off-worlder.”

Seifa turned, wide-eyed in surprise at the comment.

JK was someone she’d known for years now, but even with so many hours of quiet time together in this ship, a quiet hiding hole away from the Holy City’s heaving bustle and fame both their titles reluctantly carried, even after all this time, they _rarely_ spoke of their own feelings in this manner. JK’s thoughts were something they held deep in their chest, opinion’s they’d share, advice they’d willingly give, but their thoughts? She wanted to hear more, it was an unusual glimpse into an incredibly interesting mind.

“You thought **I** was rich?” she balked, pointing towards her chest. “How? You _seen_ the way I live?”

Their head tilted, turning slowly to glance around the cabin. Clean, homely. Plants and textiles covering cracked wall panels… repaired and well-maintained kitchenware, the coffee machine behind her newer than nearly anything else surrounding it. They shifted, looking down at the polished and well loved table, the stains and scratches buffed but still visible in the finish. Years of love and use.

They made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, tilting their head slowly to the side. “Not about what you own, Seifa. It was how you carry yourself. You’re the only person in the room till you don’t want to be, then you were never there at all. Eyes miss you.” they rumble.

“Don’t belong here. Don’t belong out there either, in the city. Covered in gold, thought you were like the others. You aren’t though.” JK hums, shifting their eyes to the scrapped together coffee machine behind her.

“..You’re like _him_.”

She’d laugh if that wasn’t such an insult, rolling her eyes and huffing a chuckle into her fist.

“Thanks. What a _compliment_.” she groaned, flashing a quick grin before lifting a finger to scratch at her jaw thoughtfully. "… I’m _not_ rich though I fleece the twins for all they are worth, sure, but that’s just good business.“ the homemade machine behind her whistled quietly as she paused, breathing deep the acrid aroma of roasted coffee wafting through the room.

"My clan might not be called that, but it’s still what they _are_. We’ve a creed of support. One of us does well for themselves? Strikes it rich? Lucks a factor as much as skill. There’s 10 bad deals for every good one.. some get a real bad streak, JK.” they nodded, understand her meaning if not her experiences.

“There were times before the twins where _I_ needed help from family, care packages and donations to keep my ship running and fuel tanks full, now I repay that debt with what I earn here, spread the wealth to others who struggle now like I did then.” Seifa shrugged, uncomfortable in sounding anything close to generous regardless of the truth. “ It’s our creed, like I said. Family first.”

Jk grunted, nodding to themself as they stared at the table in front of them, the scrunched letter in shaky lines.

“Family first..” they echoed, not quite to themself, and not quite to her either.

_Family._

They let their eyes rest on the pen gripped in their hand, tilting it slowly. The solid gold barrel reflecting light the same way the gilded fangs in his crooked grin had as he pressed the box into their open palm. Troy had been so happy when he handed them the case, blushing and shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for them to open it. They’d not known what to _do_ with the contents, looking back and forth between the solid gold pen and him awkwardly. Waiting for him to explain how they should react, anxiously hoping he’d guide them as always.

He’d laughed, plucking it from the case and pointing at the name etched into the bodywork.

“It’s for you, see, it’s your name like we p-practiced. J.a.k-.k.n.i.f.e, see it?” his hand had been trembling with excitement, cheeks flushed and smile squinting his eyes as he loomed over them, pressed close enough to hear his ragged breaths.

“Now when you write you’ll know I got your b-back, yeah? _I’ve_ got _your_ back, understand? 'Cus you’ll know that _I_ know you can do it, and I’ll keep teaching you.”

They hadn’t known what to say, the words that felt right were choking in their throat. They knew Troy often compared himself _cruelly_ to them, would emasculate himself by placing aspects of who they were on a pedestal then berate himself for not reaching. It was hard to communicate their awareness of it with him. He was so easily _hurt_ by his weaknesses being recognised, it was easier to pretend they didn’t notice and insist on complimenting him when they spotted him sinking under his own detrimental thoughts. Lift him up when they saw him flag.

But this, writing? Reading? Troy was _excellent_ at this. It was something _he_ could help _them_ with, and as soon as he’d realised they could do neither, he’d jumped on the opportunity to teach them. They understood it was a repayment of his own volition, even if they couldn’t understand why God King Calypso would feel like he’d owed them in any way. They were his guard. They shielded him. They didn’t need to be _thanked_ , you don’t need to _thank_ a brother…

Seifa waited for as silence fell between them, giving JK the chance to continue, but they said _nothing_ , nodding almost imperceptibly as they continued to stare at the pen.

They got lost sometimes in the depths under that mask, but the people close to them understood, and it was easy enough to bring JK back into the current. Wait a moment, give them a chance to snap back, then pull them back into the conversation.

She cleared her throat to break the quiet.

“So, is this lady rich then? If she likes poems and songs… and _weapons_?”

It snapped them out of their daze immediately, turning snake quick to glare through the mismatched lenses at her instead.

“She… she has money yes, she works hard. Very hard. I don’t know if she even would like a poem. It’s just something.. I see sometimes on the echonet, those movies Troy watches.”

“You give poems to great women, don’t you…?” their voice caught on a question towards the end, something they weren’t wording but clearly needed an answer for.

Sei stepped towards them, reaching out to lay a hand on their shoulder as she carefully arranged the words that felt most right for them.

“Maybe..” she started tentatively, leaning down a little to meet their eyes through the mask’s glass. “..if that’s what she _wants_ , sure. But it sounds like this woman doesn’t need fancy things, JK. Sounds like she’s plenty good at seeing the truth of what things _are_ , huh?”

They nodded emphatically, the quiet choking sounds from under their mask emphasising their eagerness to agree.

“Thought so” Sei grinned cheekily. “Why not write how you see her then, huh? No poems, just the truth of how things are.” They rumbled as she patted their shoulder, turning back to the small kitchen to prepare their drinks.

She smiled triumphantly to herself as the welcoming sound of the pouring coffee mixed with the scratching of their pen behind her, before it was interrupted by a stern grunt.

“Seifa, how do you spell _refuge_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	37. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

##  **Troy**

  * Gar is about as native as a Pandoran can get, and has for years had a _very_ soft spot for the bratty King.
  * He’s old colonist, thinks his parents might have been with Atlas on one of the _many_ failed corporate town setups that plagued Pandora 30-ish years ago. He was too young to remember who’s banner they flew under when his family stepped out of the shuttle and onto the dust planes they’d been instructed to settle, just that things went wrong _fast_ and anyone still alive 18 months later had needed to adapt quickly to what constitutes living on this planet.
  * He was drawn to the Holy City for the same reasons as most survivalists, it was an opportunity for safety and a roof over your head. Not needing to fight to eat or scrabble to stay alive is a _blessing_ for most Pandorans, and he’s one of the thousands who live within the walls who don’t quite _worship_ the twins as Gods, but praise them as holy… because the twins gave them a chance to have a _home_. Whether they are deities or not isn’t a factor in the loyalty they've’ **earned**.
  * He’s skilled with food. Knows how to spice spoiled flesh to hide the rot, pickle cactus root and delicate rock blossoms for long storage, or how long rakk wing needs to be slow-roasted to turn from gamey string to meat that melts in the mouth.
  * Like most in the HC, he ended up where his skills have value and has ran the kitchens in the Grand Cathedral since its founding bricks were set.
  * It didn’t take very long for him to _find Troy in it_ one night - picking through ingredients and half finished dishes in the early AM.
  * While he’d expected to need to drop to his knees and grovel, the God King had seemed more embarrassed than anything, awkwardly explaining he hadn’t eaten that day and asking if there was anything left from the after sermon banquet. 
  * His eager politeness had hit Gar hard, but his reaction to finding out the _leftovers had been destroyed_ was what left a lasting impression.
  * Gar had thought the twins affluent spoiled little shits who’d hit things lucky on Pandora and been clever enough to know how to use their wealth to culture worship, so when Troy was _genuinely upset_ to the point of disgust that _food had been wasted_ like that? It changed his perception immediately.
  * This wasn’t the reaction of some egotistical little shitbag from a wealthy background, this was the visceral panic and anger of someone who’d starved before, who understood the _insult_ of food being destroyed when there were so many hungry… when **he’d** known hunger.
  * It took less than 24 hours for the kitchen policies to be changed and Gar’s team to find out nothing was to be wasted. Uneaten and unused stock was to be transported at end of day to the Slums from now on, where it would “ _Bolster the flesh of the faithful_.”
  * Every time he finds Troy hunting through his kitchen at 4 am over the years, their chats grow a little longer.
  * By late COV, Gar’s meals delivered to his sanctum are some of the only things God King Calypso _still trusts enough to eat._



##  **Tyreen**

  * Xanshi Ur-Vendit is _obsessed_ with the God Queen.
  * As her Saint of Marketing, he’s got both her ear and a position of high authority within the organisation that he covets viciously, and takes great personal offence towards newer Saints he doesn’t deem worthy of the title.
  * His pedigree speaks for itself, the man had quite a reputation on Promethea among the media departments of the high corporations. An expertly trained and cut-throat money maker that was the exact kind of egotistical, _nasty_ piece of work that would be drawn to the God Queen’s side.
  * Has direct tie in’s with the esteemed Katagawa family, something he’s used to his benefit throughout his career.
  * He fawns over her, she can do no wrong around him, and he spends as many hours of the day as he can trailing behind her heels like a lapdog, reaffirming her beauty and intelligence and _infallibility_ with every breath he can manage between the underhanded threats he aims towards anyone possibly about to draw her attention away from him.
  * _Hates_ Troy. Fucking hates him.
  * Too much of a hole-sucking little coward in his $60k three piece suit to actually do anything about it of course, but he takes plenty of his vitriol out on Troy’s departments instead.
  * Marketing has such massive reach within the internal structure of the COV that he’s able to throw his weight around far more than some of her other Saints, and regardless of if they actually _like_ him, they tend to back Xan and his opinions automatically.
  * A huge amount of the conflict between departments and heads is driven by this imagined competitiveness, that Troy’s people, _Troy’s chosen_ , must in some way be inferior to Tyreen’s.
  * Xan is her right hand in his own mind, he’s her holy knight. If _she_ holds too much misplaced love for her brother to see how pathetic he is in comparison to her radiance, then it’s up to Xan to keep Troy’s people in place…
  * In reality? Tyreen isn’t even invested in him enough to remember Xanshi’s full name.



##  **Seifa**

  * Sei makes friends in low places far easier than higher ones, always has. People at the bottom of the ladder, folks who have struggled? They recognise each other. Doesn’t matter where on the scales they currently stand, there’s an unspoken nod, a side glance. You see your own - even if who you are has been lucky enough to change over time.
  * While she’s never been in one place long enough to set up a friend network before that was tangible and not based on e-comms and data feeds, she’s woven one since settling in the HC without really even noticing it was happening.
  * One-hand Jim in the King’s Call, that high-end rave bar near the cathedral grounds. Not so gruff now he’s not drowning in debt, few more smiles while he’s mixing cocktails.
  * Cleo in munitions stocks, breathing a bit easier since her son landed that underling role in the Mechanica, more food on the table with less worry.
  * Feliz and Irgo running deals in the western slum backstreets. Not competing against the HammerClaws for territory anymore since JK “ _got wind_ ” of the shit they were cutting their gear with and had Vanguard waiting at their quarters for a polite discussion about unspoken laws. What Fe and Iggy are selling isn’t exactly high quality but at least it won’t rot your brain inside the skull.
  * Sei will tell you she’s a _lone wolf_. She’ll insist she’s a one woman show, runs shit on her own and doesn’t _need_ others.
  * But watch closely when out with her in the city, check how often she _buys_ a drink, how often it’s not on an invisible tab the bar staff nod knowingly about as they hand her glass over with a smirk.
  * She’s never asked to pay.
  * That should tell you plenty.



##  ** Seifa and Tyreen **

_\- Early COV_

* * *

“Ty, you ever wish you were born a guy?”

Of all the things Tyreen had expected to hear from Sei tonight, that… wasn’t it. She stopped reading the same piece of nonsensical math in the sheet she was holding to gawk at Seifa instead, staring at the other woman’s back as she continued to work on the data records they’d been passing between them all evening.

“No.. god. What, and look like **Troy**?” she snorted with a wince. “Nooooo thanks” Ty sighed as she leaned back and heard her stiff spine pop, waiting for a response that didn’t come. She felt a pang of concern as Sei’s shoulders sank a little lower in front of her, deflating.

This wasn’t normal, where was the bitchy retort, or joining in on insulting her brother? She shuffled together the files and stood, walking to her friend’s side and sitting slowly next to her in the quiet of the twin’s shared office. Sei still hadn’t responded, pretending to be completely absorbed by the notes she stared at. Ty cleared her throat with a cough.

“Uhhh.. _why_?”

Seifa silently reached to her side to take the offered files from Ty as she sat, pointedly not making eye contact, though the younger woman picked up on the redness in them easily enough.

“Sei, I need to have someone’s hands cut off?" 

Ty pouted, hitting her mark as Seifa failed to completely hide a smirk in response.

"I need to have someone thrown into a pit? Huh? C'mon Sei, talk to me. You always tell _me_ I need to talk more about things that me down, right?” she weedled, hands clasped over her heart as she faux whined, earning a quiet laugh from her companion.

“Oh god Tyreen _SURE_ , if you’ll shutup.” Sei groaned, leaning back in her chair and running hands over her eyes. She was tired. Beyond tired, really. Always said she knew how to not outstay her welcome but had been wondering recently if that had ever been true. Day to day in the cult, managing people she’d never meet and holding the weight of more responsibility than she’d ever wanted was eating at her. Had been for some time. Nights like this helped, shooting shit with Tyreen, bitching, sometimes gently bullying Troy together if he’d decided to grace them with his janky presence, but still.. it was heavy, and Seifa was _tired_. 

“Ahh.. just the usual shit” she whispered, thumbing through the papers as Tyreen leaned a little closer, as much of a comforting presence as she could muster all things considered. An arm around the shoulder or gentle stroke of hair wasn’t an option. All Ty had was words and honestly, they weren’t exactly her _forte_.

“It’s just like. Sometimes when I’m talking, and it’s about something they think I _shouldn’t_ know shit about, like how Burgess is spending too much of _your_ budget on expensive, low grade gear-assemblies when if we went off brand I can _prove_ it would be better, they just zone out.“

"It’s like.. if they thought I had a cock, if I was 6'4, they’d be _listening_. ” she added, eyes burning again.

She groaned, leaning over the table and resting her cheek across her folded arms.

“I got so angry. I’m used to dealing with it, it’s _always_ happened, but I just boiled over. This week has been.. long, I guess.” she whispered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Tyreen watched quietly. “I ate into him in front of like, 6 other people Ty, couple of heads were there. That doesn’t help my reputation does it.. that’s just making shit worse. I’m sabotaging myself. They think I’m a bitch already without me starting a fight and stirring the pot.”

Tyreen shifted in her seat, eyes thoughtful as she rested her chin in her hands, elbow propped on the table edge.

“Nah. ”

“Just sounds like they’re dumb. I keep _telling_ Troy we need people with actual brains leading this shit Sei, if you’re getting ignored cause you have tits? Haha. Wait till they meet _me_ in person. ” she grinned, a genuine act peeking through her usual haughty persona as Seifa chuckled.

“I mean _my rack is **way** bigger than yours_, you’re flat as a fuckin’ plank in comparison.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	38. Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

### Early COV

* * *

 ****

**//Internal COV com-sys:Beta - Private Line //**

  


**Troy** :: Ty what the fuck was that on air just now? Don’t ignore this pm I stg I will hunt you down bich. What was all the “ _UWU we’re a faaaamily xoxo kiss kiss_ ” bullshit??

 **Tyreen** :: It’s called improv dumas nd I blew it outta the water did you see our ratings? Maybe I should take over the writing instead bro PFFFFFF

 **Troy** :: Haha oh wow _hilarious_ yeah yeah ok. Maybe you should **stick to my script**?? The entire point is to come across like a God, Tyreen. A God, not some fuckin mommy standin big-hugs-soft-titty figure for them all to latch onto. You’re BABYING THEM. I’ve been researching this for two freaking years now ok I think I know how Bandit culture works??

 **Tyreen** :: Two years of wat, controlling them? Using them as ammunition and meat shields? Wow nice one Troy, sure do know how to instil loyalty hahah

 **Troy** :: They ARE meat shields Tyreen!!!

 **Tyreen** :: No u idiot they are people like every other sad fuck crawling around this shithole, nd they want to be loved! They want somewhere to BELONG bro, we can meld this into your angle, we can use it, you can’t ignore the rating hike!

 **Troy** :: UggghhhhhHHHHHHHHKJGHGH

 **Troy** :: I don’t WANT them to feel like they belong, they’re already setting up shantytowns OUTSIDE the city have you not seen??? I don’t want psychos and bandits and the rest of the fuckin Pandoran scum IN where I live Tyreen, I don’t want them near me and I don’t know how the fuck you’re ok with it?? Then again I mean you eat them, so how important to you are they **really**.

 **Tyreen** :: Oh piss off u hypocritical asshole u know I’m right. Don’t want to admit ur wrong but U ARE. U don’t want them near us but ur walking around with a PET ONE, Troy. One rule for u a different one for me right?? Same as always bro.

 **Troy** \- That’s not _remotely_ the same….

 **Tyreen** :: It’s the EXACT SAME, they’re a bandit, so according to u just a fuckin animal like their clan, like the ones you call shit n filth and won’t tolerate being near. Only difference between them and some screeching psycho on the city outskirts is YOU decided they’re “special” so treat them good.

 **Troy** :: Jak-Knife is *not* an animal.

 **Tyreen** :: LOL sure ok, w/e. Ur so blind. They’re a tool just like the bandits, just like the “other” psychos, just like our magic little fortune teller prick. Tools. U don’t want to admit it but I won’t turn down an opportunity when it presents itself, THAT’S why we made it this far even though I had to drag you kicking an screaming, ok Troy??

Tyreen :: So stop fighting me when ur wrong. U can’t pick and choose which of em u hate and which of em are somehow fine. I treat everyone THE SAME, ur just a hypocrite who sticks people on pedestals while spittin on others like em and can’t work out why _**no one fucking likes u**_.

* * *

**\- One or more messages cannot be delivered, the recipient is no longer on your contact list-**

* * *

**Tyreen** :: Oh u pathetic CHILD

* * *

**//Internal COV com-sys:Beta - Private Group BEEECHH ZONE - 1 offline : 1 online //**

**Queen T :: **Sei. Sei holy fuckkgk

 **Queen T :: **SIEFFA DID YOU SEE LOGINNNN

 **Queen T :: **Seif a please I’m dying I’m dying login u dumb bitch _please please_ you can’t have missed it you can’t :LOL: :LOL: :LOL: Oh my god ohhhh m

 **SeeFug :** **:** I was eating while I was watching I fucking spit food Ty I SPIT it I’m shitting myelf di that seriously just happen

 **Queen T :: **I can’t believe

 **SeeFug :** **:** WHY DID YOU LET HIM DO THE TV SPOT ON HIS OWN :crylaugh: HE

 **Queen T :: **HE SAID HE COULD HANDLE IT. HE **TOLD ME NOT TO COME** HAHHAHHAHA

 **SeeFug :: **Fucking MORON how many people saw that?? HOW many PEOPLE WERE WATTCHHINNG

 **Queen T :: **Millions. Millions I. He 100% got a chub right?

 **SeeFug :** **:** TYREEN. HE

 **Queen T :: **He like, he fucking

 **SeeFug ::** HE WAS TRYING TO COVER IT WITH THE MECH HAND I CAN"T FBREATH

 **Queen T :: **I didn’t knoooow he could go that colour. I have _never_.

 **SeeFug :: **Oh my godddd

 **Queen T** **::** never seen anything like this I am never lettin hg him live this down for the rest of our lives seeeeeiiiffaaaaa ahahahahahahahhHHHHHH

 **SeeFug :** **:** I’m. I’m replaying it what even happened he was doing so well what happned to him

 **Queen T :: **IDK im watching again now ithis is the most cringe I’ve ever felt in my life, I think my stomachs turned inside out holy shit I cannot watch this Im dying

 **SeeFug ::** The woman, the interviewer in the suit she said something and he just FLIPPED from all smooth fucker to _blushing boner teenager_ what the fuck hap

 **Queen T ::** … good boy??

 **SeeFug :: **GOOD LITTLE _BOY_!! Oh my God. Oh mY _GOD TYREE_ N

 **Queen T** **::** “Well, aren’t you a _good little boy”_ all playfully right after his recruitment spiel about the COV care packages Seifa. Seifa I am going to kill myself

 **SeeFug ::** Good little boy i’m fuckin dying gim IM

 **Queen T** **::** I’m going to kill myself I cannot livewith this knoweldge

 **SeeFug :: **Invite him

**Queen T :: ** _GODDDF_

**SeeFug :: **Invite him Ty please quick he’s prob still in the studio on Promethea this was live like 15 mins ago

 **Queen T ::** I’m trying, I’m grying Sei we can’t ever let him live this down we can’t

 **SeeFug :** **:** Nev

* * *

**– Troying-my-best:** **: Has joined the chat group –**

* * *

**Queen T** **::** GOOD BOY

 **SeeFug ::** Goooood little boy

* * *

**– Troying-my-best** **:: Has left the chat group –**

* * *

**Queen T ::**HAHHAHAHSHAB

 **SeeFug** **::** AHHHHHHHHohhhmyg fodDDDD HHH PIN IT, PIN IT

 **Queen T** **::** SE

 **SeeFug :** **:** Never FORGET THIS TY PIN ITT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	39. Habitual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

##  **Troy** **:**

**Behavioural** **:**

  * Masks anger and frustration by forcing calm over it, meaning the more purposeful and controlled his movements and body language is, the _more aggressive he is feeling_. It’s a tell without him realising it’s one.
  * Excellent at maintaining a calm facial expression till he gets the maw mod work, and develops a facial tick in the right jaw plate he can’t quite prevent from happening when highly emotional. 
  * This can be any emotion however, from desperately trying to hold in a laugh, to wanting to rip your face off, so it can be hard to get a read on him based solely on his jaw flicking open slightly. He also gets proficient at hiding it with a cough or gesture.
  * Fear and Anger can both trigger his stunted Leech power into activating. This means a flash of markings and without any other way to expel the energy, _his wings flickering into existence as they apparate._ This is traumatic and desperately embarrassing for him as he can’t force them to shift out of visual form till he calms down, and they are a _very_ clear reminder of how unnatural and botched his broken powers are.
  * He’s avoided them being seen at all in public since his spinal implant, as it vents out the energy The Leech pulses when he’s in these emotional states, but it does mean the raise of the spines along his back is a tell he _cannot hide_ for how on edge he is.
  * Chews his bottom lip when thinking and not in character.
  * Has a very specific tightness to his lower eyelids that means he’s reminiscing about something that makes him sad, if you catch him lost in thought. Leda. Home. Everything that’s gone wrong.
  * When under extreme pressure emotionally, subtly straightens his mech arm and pulls it back towards his hip, then slowly, slow enough to make it near impossible to notice, swings it in small circles while tightening the first _hard_. 
  * You need to know about it to spot when it’s happening, but he is grinding the edges of his inner bracer against the scarring. He’s with years of practice, taking out rage on himself with no one being the wiser.
  * It means he’s frustrated to the point of a breakdown but is in the public eye, unable to show it. He’s learned how to deal with that entrapment in a way so invisible that he can do it right in front of you and _you’d never see, unless you noticed the blood._



_**Verbal** :_

  * Can’t for the life of him stop his voice hitching when he’s happy or excited. It leads to trying to sound “gruff” while having his voice crack midway through attempting to be serious. If Troy goes’s quiet in a meeting or nods to Tyreen to take over, then won’t make direct eye contact? He’s desperately trying to hide what talking will give away.
  * Rumbles to himself when OOC. It’s not quite muttering as he’s talking clearly, it’s just down to a whispering low octave. He does it a lot when working on something, and it's quite nice to hear.
  * His stammer presents itself during very heightened emotion or when completely dropping character, so doesn’t really have positive or negative connotations. If he stammers a little while talking to you about something in general, he feels very relaxed and comfortable with you. If it’s around others? He’s 10 seconds from a tantrum in one way or another.
  * Maw gives him a slight hiss to his ending s’s and a tiny whistle to his starting ones. He can mask it perfectly in public and rarely lets it slip even in private, but if he’s not sober he thinks its funny enough to laugh along with.
  * Surprisingly sincere in his gentle tone of voice when OOC, finds it hard to _sound_ like this when in persona, something about the way he has to carry himself maybe, but when Troy sounds warm and smooth, when his voice has a soft husk to it, you’re talking to Troy. 100%. Troy. Not anything or anyone else.



##  **Seifa**

**Behavioural** **:**

  * Sei is extremely on edge far more than anyone who doesn’t know her could possibly guess. She’s only in a relaxed state when alone or around very close friends, and has never, despite her current position, grown out of needing to read the room and be prepared at all times.
  * She carries a lot of this tension in her core and shoulders. “Relaxed” charismatic stances during interactions mask how tight she’s coiled, how much she’s balanced on her toes. She’s taken a knife and had far too many bullets hit _far_ too close to her head to drop the alertness around competitors and possible business partners. 
  * Good friends will notice this over time, and Troy knows just how to drop a heavy hand on her shoulder and thumb into the tight tendon before anyone notices him. A wordless, simple reassurance to someone who provides so much for him.
  * She can’t mask frustration very well and tight lips with squinted eyes is an instant tell. She’ll loosen up as soon as you draw her attention, but as once she’s distracted again the same expression returns. She’s surprised by how often people “get _just_ when to bring me a drink!” and doesn’t realise it’s because she’s so incredibly obvious about it. She’d be disgusted if she knew.
  * Covers her stomach with one or both hands when feeling vulnerable. It’s not intentional but the memory of how that knife felt is burned into her mind, and she automatically covers the scar protectively if she feels threatened or unsafe. Her actual behaviour won’t change, still all fake confidence and bluster, but the people who _know_ see her real concern very clearly.



_**Verbal** :_

  * Very, very bad at hiding her emotions verbally unless in full blown character mode. If she’s not bullshitting someone you can tell rapidly how she’s faring by how she actually communicates. The more stress or frustration she’s under, the snappier, more curt her speaking style becomes. One word answers, snorts, data driven retorts. She _knows_ she’s terrible with this and has tried to hide it over the years, but failed miserably every time.
  * A Seifa who sounds _unsure of herself_ is really in a bad place. Questioning her own decisions, looking for reassurance, voice sounding meek? She’s really struggling and it’s a cry for help she won’t put into words.
  * Cries quite easily and it’s her voice that will break well before the tears do. She hates it, feels it undermines the level of control she tries to come across as having, but it happens when she’s frustrated, angry, **or** sad and it’s a constant source of embarrassment for her when it does. Ignoring it and letting her continue, focusing on her _words_ and not her _voice_ is the best way to deal with it, and she will appreciate you so much for doing so.
  * Pretends she doesn’t get affected by flirting but is actually an easy target for flattery. Chat her up, play to her vanity, and you’ll get **the laugh**. The real one, the snorting, stupid giggle as she blushes. She cannot hide that shit. _Loves it_ , even if she knows damn well she’s being played. She can enjoy it without falling for it, after all.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	40. Quirks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

### Handling critique:

##  **Troy:**

_He doesn’t know them by name and they aren’t showing respect when he turns to apprehend who just dared interrupt him rudely in front of others?_

  * Dead. Immediately. There’s no pause to hear them out or explain themself, their head will be crushed in that spined fist before he even finds out what they were about to say was criticism. There is no concern or regret over this later, he won’t even care enough to remember their face.
  * Far more forgiving in private as he’s not needing to play up to his persona, but still - _respect **has** to be shown_.



_Someone he is aware of by name/rank, or sees as having value?_

  * Stay polite and factual and he’ll listen. Hands clasped behind his back and shifting his eyes down their body as they speak, like they’re being measured, or _read_. He’ll listen. The more numbers they can provide, the more clear data they can give that shows his information or his actions are wrong and what they are suggesting is better, the more likely he will take it on board. The God King is surprisingly polite and _coldly_ calm when approached correctly, regardless of if he _likes_ what he is being told.



_\- A close friend_?

  * Nervous, picking at his teeth with the tips of his nails and finding it hard to meet their eyes. Hunched over himself and back bent even if he still towers over them, like a child who just wants to go hide. Stuttering. Apologetic to the point of becoming self deprecating even if what they were raising was only minor. It’s not a big deal Troy, it’s not, it was just some feedback. Calm down pal it’s not worth getting worked up over, really. No you don’t have to redo the whole thing, that’s stupid come on y.. no _you_ aren’t stupid Troy, don’t delete it all.. Oh, **_Troy_**.



##  **Tyreen** _-_

  * She does not hear, she does not see.
  * From anyone. It doesn’t matter who they are. Unless you are her you’re wrong, because she cannot be incorrect. She is infallible… you get it, right sweetheart?
  * She is omnipotent. She is a GOD. It’s not that she’s not listening to them, they don’t mean enough for her even to be _able to hear_.



##  **Seifa** **:**

_A stranger she views as someone below her in position_?

  * Lol who _are_ you. Who the fuck _are you_ to think your opinion has any value, let alone matter to her? She’s not even hearing what you’re saying, you should be out of her presence by the time she stops eyerolling by the way, she’s a busy woman. May not be healthy to **waste more of her time**.



_Above her in authority or experience_?

  * Silence. Not quite making eye contact, she’s focusing on breaking down what you’re saying and digesting useable information. A quick “Got it, I’ll consider what you said” afterwards is genuine. She _will_ consider it. That doesn’t mean she will take it onboard, but she knows not to waste valuable data.



_Friend_?

  * A mix of both. She’ll make it clear there’s a very good chance her opinion on this is going to supersede yours, but that yours still has value for her. She might not make change changes right now based on it.. but it could affect how she approaches things in the future.



* * *

### Pet Peeves:

##  **Tyreen**

  * A pet peeve, one she’s irked by but doesn’t spend a huge amount of time lost in rage over, is people treating her like she’s airheaded. It happens _often_ , especially when she’s around Troy. She’s not dumb. _At all_. Just because she’s not a giant, brooding, scowling asshole who stands in silence while death-glaring everyone in the room, doesn’t mean she’s vacant or stupid. Just because she’s louder, and more animated, doesn’t mean she’s _ditzy_.
  * In talks, the conversation always gets pointed to him for any discussion regarding anything with business or technical depth, she hates it. He’s _good_ at this shit, he’s _great_ with numbers and logic, but just because she communicates differently doesn’t mean shes _terrible_. It’s irritating.



##  **Seifa** :

  * Bullshit. She cannot abide hearing someone _talk complete wank_ , and wants extremely direct clearcut conversation at all times bar if she’s talking shit with friends. That’s totally different.
  * She wouldn’t manage to be in the same room as someone like Rhys or Katagawa for more than 5 minutes before she’d be ready to peel her own face off and eat her hands, so takes a lot of comfort from the “Please fucking kill me oh my _god_ ” gestures and grimaces Troy makes towards her from out of the speakers sight in meetings where they are dealing with the waves of verbal shite emanating from some corporate tool.



##  **Troy** :

  * Sleeping. It’s just a fucking waste of time. It’s completely pointless. Shut yourself down for hours so your body can release chemicals it needs? Fuck sake, just _take_ the chemicals and stay awake, wow, well done, now you have ¼ of your life back!
  * Dreams suck, waking up feeling like death sucks, spending hours laying awake staring at your ceiling while trying to make your “ _brain be quiet for once, just please.. be quiet.._ ” for hours till you eventually pass out sucks, it’s all stupid and wasteful and humans are dumb. He’s dumb. Everyone’s dumb.



* * *

### Tenderness:

##  **Tyreen** : 

  * She’d see _wanting_ it as being weak in a way, Ty doesn’t need anyone for any reason, so she doesn’t need intimacy or tenderness. Why would she? She’s not weak, or soft. Not being able to touch others isn’t even a factor here, don’t you dare imply it is. Intimacy is for people who aren’t strong enough to exist alone, don’t insult her by thinking she’d ever _want_ it. She watches those romcoms for the PLOT and the character development, did you _see in that last episode of Skags of fire that Miguel finally got with Santia-_



##  **Seifa** : Born 2 Tender ( _physically and monetarily_ )

  * She thrives off receiving and giving affection to close friends and partners, it’s a part of herself she masks off from her general authoritative persona for a _lot_ of reasons, people often see being caring or gentle as weak, and that’s not something she can afford in day to day life.
  * People close to her know she’s very tactile platonically, and an arm around a waist or shoulders is the norm if you’re spending much time with her and she’s in good spirits. She doesn’t shy away from touch in general and has no problem initiating contact with anyone she trusts and is close enough with that she doesn’t feel like being caring is a risk around. Intimacy and close tenderness with a partner is her main love language, and something she absolutely expects be provided to her.



##  **Troy** : Viciously envious of it

  * The last time he encountered freely platonic intimacy was in his childhood, both with Leda and Tyreen before Ty started to resent showing affection more and more as they got older. He’s desperately, pathetically lonely and fully aware of that, even if he lies to himself that he’s fine.
  * He can’t request it from the people he sleeps with as it means showing them the real man under the persona, and he’s learned that _people do not like the real Troy_ , so he’s starved of real intimacy despite having so much access to other people’s bodies nightly.



* * *

### Not all bad:

##  **Troy**

_His intelligence._

  * It’s one thing he can think back on and remember _only ever_ receiving positive comments on, right from as early as he can recall. He’s always been able to consider problems in a way that lets him break them down and approach them from a unique angle. Dad said he was able to “Think outside the box”, but he never really understood what that meant till the twins landed on Pandora and he watched _so many people_ run themselves into the ground when such simple solutions were right there. Maybe not _moral_ solutions, but simple solutions regardless! He absorbs and retains information very easily without any real effort, and when he found out that wasn’t the norm, it became a genuine point of pride for him. Something **he** was great at, unrelated to his persona.



_Hips and thighs_

  * While most of his upper body causes him physical pain or he dislikes in general for multiple uhh.. reasons, he’s _never_ had any issues with his lower body. He loves the definition of his hips and lower stomach, his knees haven’t ever had any joint pain, his legs have always been toned and strong without really needing any focus on them. He’s worked himself to the bone trying to fix the things about his upper body that he hates, but his legs? Nah. Nice :ok_hand:



_He’s really good at looking after plants_

  * He’s _really_ good at it. Lots of people can’t keep plants alive but he can :) No one knows about it, but he does. It’s nice to be good at something. It’s just …nice. :)



##  **Seifa**

_Her waist and stomach._

  * Sei is relatively curvy for her height and is _very_ thankful for her narrow waist, or she’d look like a solid rectangle in heeled boots no matter what she wore. It helps her keep up the soft fem aesthetic she likes to mix with punk bullshit without much effort, gives her a shape in baggy engineering overalls, and keeps belt pouches ON. Like, ON on. Shit is never going to move. She has a slight soft curve to her lower stomach she used to **hate** , thinking it made her look overweight , but as she grew into her twenties learned to love. Other people liked it, she was just being a dumb kid.



_Physical strength_

  * Years of working with lugging heavy machinery has given her an unexpectedly solid core, and she’d have no problem lifting something, say, _Troy_ weight, and flipping it over her low center of balance without a sweat. Which is very fun. On things that _are_ Troy weight.



_The loyalty she builds with others without trying_

  * She’s not sure what it is exactly she’s been doing to prompt it, but over the last few years she’s come to realise she has a genuine support network across the system of people who are _very_ loyal to her, and are there when needed to back her up in trades, or filling positions she needs, or getting her in touch with a group she’s got no foot in. People she works with or gets to know _trust_ her and remember her even years later, it’s been a nice thing to find out about herself, though she wishes she knew what exact thing about her was the source of it.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	41. Shame

## 

* * *

##  ** Troy **

  * How much he desperately _tries_ to be good enough for the people he cares about.
  * It’s different to the mimicking, the bizarre give and take of worming his way into the good books of someone he is going to be working with or wants to be on controllable terms with. It’s genuine, and that’s _probably_ why he’s so unbelievably shit at it.
  * When Troy isn’t playing a part, when there is no act he can slip into, you see the reality of how socially inept the man actually is, and there is no one this comes across to as clearly as someone he _really cares about_.
  * In the past it was to people he thought he had loved, but now? His friends.
  * He wants to say the right thing to them when they hurt, the way they know how to help him, but he never mouths the words properly. They gum in his throat and come out wrong, barbed sometimes. Accidentally sharp when they are meant to comfort.
  * He wants to embrace them and let them feel the warmth inside his chest when they laugh with him or make him feel like he’s part of their world and not some alien _thing_ , but Troy is uncomfortable with touching… and it never feels correct when he tries, he never gets the sense they _want it_ , so he shies away instead.
  * He’d love to express how much they matter and have helped him. Prove that he wants to show them and can’t understand how to, but it never happens… every time he tries he makes another mistake that leaves him more frustrated and less able to believe they would trust it anyway.
  * He reads, pathetic online guides from Doctors he’s pretty sure aren’t really ones, on how to make friends. How to connect with people. He follows the steps and sometimes they work, sometimes Ven _laughs_ , sometimes JK slaps his back, sometimes Seifa lightly strokes a palm down his arm and wrinkles her nose with a grin, but he’s not sure it makes him feel better, not really.
  * Because do they like _him_ , or do they like the _act_ he just played.
  * Maybe he should just stop _being_ him.



##  ** Tyreen **

  * Ty went through a good few years of her teens _genuinely not liking women_.
  * It made total sense at the time, she doesn’t hate herself for it because she can absolutely recall the context, but looking back she can see how mistaken it was, and has always moved away from the subject on the very rare occasions Troy has mentioned it.
  * They had _such limited_ echo-net access on Nekro. Text logs mostly, data feeds from 4 years in the past that Mom and Dad would slowly parse together with the basic tech they had access to that could still get _any connection_ at all.
  * What the twins mostly had growing up, were old movies.
  * Adventurers and dames, brave kings and wilting queens, dashing knights and delicate princesses… she _hated_ those women.
  * They weren’t like Mom and they WEREN’T like Tyreen. Tyreen was going to be an adventurer, a star. She wasn’t going to _faint_ while Troy fought the dragons, much as he loved the idea of it, of him brandishing a sword at monsters while his sister sang his praise.
  * All they had growing up were these broken tropes and their parent’s stories, tarnished by the gender roles she applied to them from habit.
  * She wasn’t going to be a stupid woman, she was going to be _strong_.
  * It took less than a year on Pandora and seeing how fierce femininity could really be, to realise how wrong she’d been, but still - she doesn’t like to remember those feelings.
  * She’s beautiful and deadly now, and that’s perfect.



##  ** Seifa **

  * That Goth phase never happened shut the fuck up shut up. Shut.


  * How much of the fortune she earns that actually ends up in her accounts is something she keeps _very_ close to her chest.
  * JK she’s told, an olive branch, a gesture of vulnerability to help them understand where she was approaching from, what her true angle was, and how much they had in common in mindset if not life experience.
  * Tyreen _knows_ , easily piecing it together from the small amount of time she’s spent in Seifa’s personal ship, shrewd eyes noting the repaired tech, the patched together furnishings that never seemed to be replaced with luxury she should easily be able to afford, but no one else.
  * Ven and Eli? They know no different. They’ve lived in shitholes, her ship is a palace in comparison, and they’ve no context for how nothing has changed or been upgraded in years.
  * Troy doesn’t notice, he’s always showered her in expenses, gifts, things he thinks can show his appreciation but she actually has no use for, and her home? Well Sei’s ship _is Sei_ to him. It’s comfortable and warm, it’s her sandalwood perfume and that coffee she always offers him that he hates but drinks anyway. He doesn’t see any of the faults, none of the cracks or sewed together cushions matter. It’s like how he looks at her, he doesn’t _recognise the failings_.
  * She’s passed almost all her non required cash since landing the Saint position back to Boss and the people across her network who are struggling and need the support. She can now offer it… so that’s how it needs to be, it’s how she grew up. They’ve dragged her out of poverty before, kept her belly full and ship running when she had _nothing_ in her coffers, she’s repaying the favor now that she has no worries. That’s family you’ve chosen to be part of, strong and filled with love.
  * She’s softer than she would like anyone to know when it comes to helping others, staff debts, required upgrades for run down stalls in the slums, slipping cash for medication to oil-hands fresh on Pandora after a long journey to be closer to their Gods, her purse is far easier to prise open than you’d expect for someone with such an apparent lust for wealth.
  * If anyone does ever pick up on how Ur-Machina tends to wear the same outfits often, or how simple the mounds of jewelry she wears _actually_ are… they’d do well to keep that shit to themself.
  * **That’s** good business.




	42. Exes and enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Troy**

  * Troy has fallen in love more times than he will _ever_ admit, but none of them proceeded into anything even close to a relationship. None of them hate him, they tell _incredibly embarrassing stories_ about how awkward he was maybe.. but they aren’t enemies. Just people he’d rather forget and pretends he has.
  * Troy’s real problems are the people who covet **him**.
  * He’s made the mistake of very often choosing people to fuck that see that kind of choice - _being singled out by their own God_ \- as more of a statement about them than it actually is. To arrogant followers, God King Calypso turning a hungry eye to the curves of your body or sweat beading across your pecs means _you’re special now_. You’re _better_ than others… That he _cares_ about you specifically…
  * He doesn’t, he’d be hard-pressed to even remember their names, but it’s left him with a notable group of people who not only believe they are far more valuable than they actually are, but can also be viciously aggressive towards others they feel _jealousy_ over him for.
  * Anyone with common sense could have told him this was a mistake, that he should be choosing _outside_ the fanatics, he should be welcoming people who don’t think he’s a God into his bed chambers, but he wouldn’t listen anyway. Them believing he is Holy is one of the reasons he chooses them in the first place.
  * The worst are the ones he’s made this mistake with more than once. Akash, Bishop Sero, and other high ranking priests who left their old names behind and covered their dusty - blood soaked pasts with heavy robes and delusions of grandeur when they joined the clergy.
  * They _COVET_ Father Troy, they’ve convinced each other they are his holy flock, his gilded chosen.. and they are viciously protective of this role they fabricated for themselves.
  * He can’t even really describe their faces if you asked, but he remembers the taste of their skin, and he can recite the praise they dripped from hungry mouths like memorised gospel.
  * They were very, very stupid mistakes, and it takes him far too long to realise he’s made them.



##  **Seifa**

  * Sei’s been extremely careful with relationships in general and has so rarely entered into one in the first place, that she doesn’t have any exes who’d shed consider as hating her. Not on good terms? Sure. She left them, after all. It was always her who wasn’t happy. But hate? Nah. They could converse if needed. If she knew any of them were in trouble and helping out wasn’t going to cost her neck? Well. Shhh.
  * What she does have however, is a trail of people she played _far too heavy handed_ , and one in particular cost her a broken wrist, a split lip, and someone she will avoid for the rest of her life.
  * Sei, especially before the twins, used flirtation and manipulation _often_. It was a simple go too for getting what she wanted out of a deal, flattery played right towards someone who wants to fuck you gets you _very far_ in being underestimated. Buttering up a group of competitors then somehow ending up embroiling them in a bar fight while you sit innocently with a cocktail is a valid business strategy… but she got lucky for far too long when it came to choosing marks, till she wasn’t.
  * Archivald had decided she was his before she’d even hit full throttle with the giggling and fawning, and she’d noticed far too late how **invested** in that decision he’d become, and how _quickly_. It had started great, free drinks all night, the ear of the _number 1_ warp core importer planet-side, and his huge arm around her shoulders for half the night, no one else holding his interest for long enough to even bring up their bids.
  * It had ended terribly, she’d not stopped him from drinking when she should have, hadn’t kept control of the act enough to give herself an out, hadn’t noticed the _jealousy_ in his glare when she’d started working the long legged blonde with the incredible range of welding-alloy stock later, and she’d paid the price.
  * He’d only landed one hit after the grab, but the force of his fist had cracked the wrist he seized her by, and the slap that came after split her lip badly enough to knock her out.
  * He was removed forcefully from the club before she came to, but the damage was done and she launched off station shortly after with a bruised ego _and_ face.
  * She’s toned it down since, sultry rather than _vapid_ when she plays them now. Makes sure they don’t forget who’s really in control. - 
  * He’s not forgotten, she hears about it on the tradelines still, years later. The things he calls her, the contacts he’s turned against her. Not that it matters **NOW** …
  * … Wrist still hurts sometimes though.



##  **Tyreen**

  * Having had no relationships in the past and no physical contact with followers, she’s avoided the “ _insane fan / horrifying ex_ ” situation, but is plennnnty hated on a personal level by more than enough people.
  * Tyreen has absolutely none of her Twin’s gift with words when it comes to razor wit. Troy can cut people to the bone without stepping a foot out of line in professional situations, leave them sweating and powerless with just a couple of choice words and a pout of his lips, but _Tyreen_ … she just straight-up insults them.
  * She has _no_ decorum. If she’s annoyed with some arrogant suit eying her like something they’d scrape off their boot while still trying to manipulate what they want out of the COV in a meeting? She just _tells them_ what she thinks.
  * Troy finds this fucking hilarious and is usually standing next to her, arms clasped behind his back as he stares watery eyed at the floor while biting the inside of his cheeks. But the investors? The wannabe sponsors? The people she’s aiming her heavy handed spite at? They _don’t_.
  * There’s a reason by mid COV she hands over almost every deal and direct management case with a weapons manufacturer or multi-billion dollar trade negotiation to Troy, the majority of upper management in organisations remotely on par with the cult refuse to be in the same room as her, and she’s woefully ignorant at _how much_ she’s mocked behind closed doors.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	43. Vices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Form of self harm
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** TW: Form of self harm **

** **

##  ** Troy **

_Perfectionism -_

  * For a man with **so many** destructive vices, it might be odd to not consider the drug cocktails, violence, aggression or self sabotage he chases as his main crutch, but his perfectionism fuels _everything else_.
  * Troy genuinely believes he needs to excel in every single task assigned to him or that _he decides is his responsibility_ , and has ever since childhood when he realised being told he was useful and doing a good job by Typhon felt _almost_ the same as being told he was loved.
  * Taking over responsibilities helps him feel in control. Staying up 48 hours straight pouring over numbers and viewer fluctuations, investigating media trends till he passes out at his desk? It gives him a grip on a life he constantly feels is slipping between his fingers. Exhausting himself running data traces on targets, background checks on competitors, digging through people’s e-net histories and pulling their lives apart string by string makes him feel useful, and he chases that high no matter how much it crashes down on him after.
  * The depression, exhaustion, poor health, and damage to his ego it causes? The aftermath is the drugs, the aggression, the self _hate_.
  * Troy will wear himself to the bone for a single “Good job” from his sister. He’ll wallow in the afterglow till it fades and leaves him shivering, then he’ll make the exact same mistake and begin to limp after it again - even when he knows it’s never _real_.
  * He runs practically the entire cult by late COV, he takes every responsibility from off Tyreen’s shoulders and bears the crushing weight himself, all for a _chance_ she might see how much he’s breaking and thank him.
  * It’s a crutch that’s physically harming him, but he can’t let go.



##  ** Seifa **

_Self deprecation -_

  * Sei vents frustration and stress when alone by berating _herself_ for the causes, a habit she doesn’t recognise as she avoids doing it around others and so has never had it brought up.
  * She’s relied on it since early childhood and wouldn’t be able to explain where it began or why, but has been doing so her entire adult life.
  * Whether it’s some mix of imposter syndrome, guilt, or self aggression is hard to say, but if you were a fly on the wall in any of her all nighters in her office or while poring over botched paperwork in her quarters, it would be impossible to miss the _loathing._
  * `She's stupid, she's weak. She should have caught this in production, she fucked up by hiring the person who botched this, why was she not clever enough to see this would happen, how is she such a failure that she didn't pre-empt JK's breakdown earlier, who does she think she's lying to by thinking Ven values her friendship when she's come up completely empty in that investigation into Rid-Poisoning experts, why are the Twins burdening themselves by keeping her around if she can't fucking run the Mechanicum without these set backs, ugly, dumb, soft, pathetic little fool.`
  * Would completely deny this happens if faced, I mean come on. Her? Have you _met_ her? **lol**
  * She’s perfect.



##  ** Tyreen **

  * Though self harm’s not.. what she’d actually call it at all. There’s no hatred in it, there’s no disgust or will to hurt herself.. she _can’t_ after all. It’s not like it causes pain or doesn’t heal literally instantly, it’s more some kind of bizarre fascination.
  * Ty treasures herself, she’d never do anything to punish or harm her body intentionally, she _loves_ it. It’s her power she loathes, which she’s always found bizarre as even with the awkwardness of raising it preventing it ever being discussed, _she knows her twin is the total opposite._ She can’t comprehend that. How could you not love your body. Everyone else loves her body, why wouldn’t she?
  * Tyreen peeks under her skin in that split second before it heals not because she hates herself, because every now and then after a long week, or a particularly aggressive raid, or a lets flay where she glutted till she could burst, she just.. she wants the reassurance she _is_ her.
  * She wouldn’t discuss this with anyone, they would never ever be able to understand anyway, would think she was doing it for reasons they’d fabricate, unable to grasp at the _real_ why.
  * Sometimes Tyreen needs to check under her skin to make sure there isn’t anything else beneath it. That it’s just .. her. That there isn’t something moving beneath her dermis, that she’s not being _worn_ by something horrifying. Sometimes that feeling becomes so overwhelming, suckles at the back of her mind with such pressure, that she **has to check**.
  * The relief is palpable when she confirms it’s not true.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	44. The truth can hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Troy**

\- _From his Science dept. Saint, late COV:_

That it’s a shame he hadn’t put this much research into Sirens earlier, or he probably would have been able to feed himself before now.

It had floored him. 

Merva had said it in a completely innocent way, talking more to herself out loud than to God King Calypso as she focused on documenting the results from the last Eridium tests run on his cell samples. 

She was completely right. Why _hadn’t_ he? 

He’d.. always known he was taking power from Tyreen in some way, he’d _known_ that. She couldn’t push power to other people, so had him being the one taking from her not always been the logical answer? He was a clever man. Why had he never.. why had he never reached further into finding out _how_ it worked.

Why had he never _tried_. He could have been free so much sooner, able to cut himself from Tyreen, able to live his own life. The order’s library on Athenas had been something he’d known about years, why hadn’t he ordered it looted nearly a decade ago? Why had he not spent hours poring over ancient texts, finding out everything he could about Siren lore, Eridium, _feeding_ from it…

In the back of his mind though, as he fake laughed at the question and tried to mask the rising panic in his expression while Merva worked, he _knew_ what had stopped him.

He was a _coward_.

A life of slavery to Tyreen had felt safer than even the _slightest_ risk of being free.

If he had no choice, then he could tell himself he had an excuse for the horrors he’d committed to further their cause. 

Pathetic, selfish, _**coward**_.

##  **Tyreen**

_\- From her voice in the back of her mind she hadn’t been able to hear clearly for so long, Leech Lord period:_

That he’d been right all this time. He’d been right, and she really _was_ happy now. Happier than she ever could possibly have been if she’d continued down the path she’d been on. That she’d felt _she had no way off_. 

Sitting here in the morning sun, sipping tea she could _taste_ the sweetness of, facing the shabby little garden of slightly janky looking vegetables _she_ had grown, 3 weeks late for her cycle and knowing damn well what that meant, she was fucking **happy**. 

Happy, and smirking to herself as she heard her boyfriend yawn and cough out a good morning from their bedroom through the thin walls.

Her lanky asshole brother was right. He’d always been, and she’d fought him quite literally tooth and claw to stop this happening. Fought him from “ _Taking what was hers_ ”, even when everyone could see how much it was killing who she was, when he knew better and _had known_ better for probably their entire lives. He’d seen what was happening, in the end. How close she’d been to being consumed herself. How little of Tyreen’s spark had been left in the slimy grasp of the monstrosity she carried under her skin. 

She smiled, knowing that if she picked up her echo right now, even after what she’d last said to him, even after the hatred and tears and promises of retribution one day, if she picked it up _right now_ and called… he’d answer.

##  **Seifa**

_\- From a low tier acolyte she didn’t even recognise yet alone know the name of, mid COV_ :

“Being the God Twin’s wet nurse sure made shit easy for you, huh”

She’d stopped in her tracks as the implication sank in, turning to face the scrawny woman in soiled robes standing confidently to her side - sneering in disgust at Sei.

It wasn’t the fact that some faceless worshipper had interrupted a Saint that hit her hard, it wasn’t the clumsily handled attempt at an insult that left her speechless, it was the _simplicity_ of the statement.

Is _this_ what people thought? If a powerless bottom-tier priest had put this together in their disease riddled brain, how many others had whispered it between them? At what levels in the clergy? For _how long_?

Did people not _know_ how hard she’d fought her whole life to reach this kind of position? Did they think Troy had just called her out of the blue to run the Mechanicum because.. because.. she’d… what **did** they think?

What did people think _she had done_ to reach Saint? 

Did her techs think she’d fucked her way into the role with some ratty kid she’d befriended years ago? Did her mechanics side-eye and smirk when God King Calypso visited the hangar for inspections and they’d hear shared laughter echo from her quarters? 

Fuck. _FUCK_.

She’d not even known how to respond, too many possibilities rushing through her mind like the rug had just been pulled out from her feet and she could see the rusted holes in what she’d thought was solid metal beneath her. _Fuck_.

She’d stalked back to the Mechanicum hangar and not left her quarters for the rest of the day, the music that normally pulsed through the hundreds of speakers had been switched off and Ur-Machina had growled a warning through them that “ _Slacking was over and they had schedules to keep”_.

The oldhand techs working in the massive dock had explained to newbies through whispered laughter that she just got like this sometimes, don’t worry she’d be back to herself soon.

She was just _in a mood_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	45. Appetite (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## 

* * *

##  **Troy**

The first time Sei had seen him eat had been on the second day of being awake on her ship after his fever had broke and his twin had taken the opportunity to rest. If she didn’t already have a million red flags screaming for her attention, this one would have floored her.

Troy swiped all of the food on the plate into the center, messily carved through it with his knife, then just shoveled it into his mouth. He didn’t actually look like he was chewing it, not even finishing choking down a heaping spoonful of mismatched food before moving to scoop up another.

Seifa had chuckled as he reached for a third serving and he’d _frozen_ … staring at her guiltily from under his hair while shaking like a kicked Skag-pup. Her laugh had caught in her throat. It hadn’t been _funny_.

He learned very quickly in the first couple of months that he didn’t _need_ to do that anymore. They’d never discussed it and never really do, but the manner in which Troy ate had developed from many, _many_ years of being expected to feed himself and Typhon. There was never enough. He’d wolf down whatever he could get his hand on as quickly as possible before anyone else could notice and point out he _should_ be sharing.

Some horrible mix of guilt and desperate hunger had shaped it, and it took him months to be able to _relax_ while eating. He’d never really learned how to use cutlery either. Leda had died too early and left them with a parent who figured all you needed was a _good knife_ , never noticing how much their one armed child struggled to prepare his own plate without ending up mixing bite sized pieces into a mound he could eat as quickly as possible.

Troy’s obsession with “Fitting In” and learning social graces means he stopped doing this in public _very quickly_ , but when he’s very relaxed? If he’s around people he doesn’t feel on edge with?

All the food goes into a pile in the center of his plate, and he laughs at any looks of disgust aimed at him.

It tastes better this way, he _swears_. You get ALL the flavors at once!

When it comes to his body, If Troy did absolutely nothing extra on top of his normal life routine, he’d retain his lithe wiry physique with no effort. That’s who he is, it’s his default build.

Sadly, he is also God King Calypso, and Calypso has sculpted abs, lats you could grate with, and needs enough definition at all times for the camera to pick up… so Troy has to work. 

_Hard_.

The problem is, _Gods don’t need to put in effort_ to look good, they are flawless, above human, so Troy’s routines are something he keeps _completely private_.

He struggles to maintain weight even on a healthy day and tends to substitute a lot of daily calories with shakes, tasteless protein slabs ; anything he can hork down in a couple of minutes at the start or end of his day without eating too much time.

He’s hyper aware of his appearance _always_ , to a very unhealthy level. Will deny spending hours on sleepless nights poring over comments about his physique on media, would be offended at the implication but.. it’s Troy. Of course he does.

He relies on the calisthenics of carrying the _massive_ prosthetic for a lot of his general definition, but has a simple setup in his project room in sanctum for his morning routine. Pull-up bar for shoulder/back, hanging crunches for his stomach, and he _runs_.

He loves running.

It’s almost as relaxing as climbing out in Pandora’s craggy hills at night for him. He’ll run on the high end treadmill in the corner of that room _untill he pukes_ , and often does.

He _knows_ he’s not really going anywhere, but when he closes his eyes and focuses on the burn of his shaky lungs and the fire in his chest as sweat drips down the crease of his spine, he’s not Troy anymore. Not Calypso at least. Maybe DeLeon, chasing down the Manta his snare injured.

He’s not here, he’s not on Pandora for those 30 minutes, he’s free in a body pulsing with pain and life. He’s somewhere else. Someone else.

Then he showers, drapes the God King’s bloodied skin back over himself, fixes the mask in place… and steps out of his Sanctum.

##  **Tyreen**

Ty very rarely eats at all, but when she finds something she can actually _taste_ like an extremely sour kind of citrus or highly spiced and smoked meat, she really takes her time _enjoying it_. She eats very slowly and will chew what’s in her mouth till there is barely anything left to swallow just to pull as much flavor out of it as she can.

She far more often enjoys smelling food than eating it, and will usually have a plate full in front of her at any celebration or feast to enjoy the aroma even if she won’t be able to taste any.

She loves _watching_ other people eat and not in a remotely sinister way. If she’s surrounded by people eating and you pay enough attention go the God Queen, you’ll catch the genuine smile as she flicks her eyes around the table and enjoys the satisfaction and happiness surrounding her.

Very often asks Troy to describe how things taste to her when they are out of the public eye. He knows how to describe using the right _smells_ and _memories_ for her to be able to imagine the sense she’s missing.

Snotty little shit when it comes to smoking though, is convinced she’s got an amazing palette for the tastes and mouthfeel of different blends. Doesn’t, Troy just lies about what he rolled for her 90% of the time and hides the smirk.

Ty’s never noticed any changes in her body regardless of how much energy she gluts on, so doesn’t really put any actual effort into maintaining it. She’s always… _the same_.

Even during periods of having very little of substance to feed on while growing up, she never got thinner. Just _hungrier_. The Leech seems to be highly tuned to making sure its host does actually get everything she needs to be healthy, though she’s not sure if that’s really a good thing. She’d rather have that control herself.

Ty is active enough in her day to day to retain a fit look, but she swims a LOT and is pretty sure it’s to thank for her tone. She doesn’t do it to stay looking tight though, that’s just a nice bonus. 

There’s a private room sized pool along the balcony of the twin’s upper cloister that overlooks the plains Pandora’s main sun sets across, and letting herself sink under that cool fresh water has always felt like it’s wiping away the day’s sin. When she’s left with just the thrumming of her heartbeat in her ears and the pressure of the water silencing everything else, she’s herself - slipping through the crisp waters of the lake they lived by on Nekro.

Troy’s a poor swimmer and avoids doing so in general, this is all hers and hers alone. Something she’s great at and he’s always struggled with. It’s nice to be reminded as the water laps at her skin, that she’s good at some things that are _normal_.

##  **Seifa**

Is a trash can and was shocked to find out that’s not actually the norm.

The migrant colony she grew up in under Boss was NOT picky about food, couldn’t be. With a constant flow of new faces from different cultures and planets as well as not having a sure flow of supplies, you ate what you got and where happy for it.

None of them ever went _hungry_ , but you’d not question what you were given and half of the time you’d never even find out what it **was**. She’s got a highly varied palette but no idea what a lot of the things she’s eaten in the past actually were, so only tends to realise she’s eaten something before when she’s handed it again as an adult.

Puts a huge amount of seasoning in _everything_ , too much for some people, but that’s part of her past too. Food wasn’t always fresh, spices hide spoilage.

Likes to cook and tries to do so for friends often enough, it’s one of her newly created family-esque rituals she isn’t aware she’s doing within the HC. Getting people to her ship for evenings to eat and sit, talk about the week, unwind, and gently bully Troy as he turns red and stammers to remind everyone he’s a fucking _God_ and they should watch their mouths, all while trying not to let how _happy he is to be included_ show.

She has a massive sweet tooth and _really_ enjoys fruits.

Sei is a vain little shit and puts a _lot_ of energy into maintaining her appearance which includes her preferred weight and strength.

Years of lifting and pulling heavy machinery and parts have given her a decent enough core for her size and that’s not something she needs to put a huge amount of thought into as it’s still involved in her day to day job, and she doesn’t _actively_ exorcise in general, but she’s the kind of person who weighs herself every morning and night and plans her meals ahead to match fluctuations.

She’ll skip breakfasts, feed friends and not plate food for herself sometimes. She devotes more brain power to managing her own stats than a lot of other people would, but like all of her weirdness with numbers and control - _she thinks it’s totally normal_.

She’s not super fit, toned, or strong, but she’s at a happy point with each for where she wants to be and likes the look of. There aren’t enough hours in her day to be lifting weights or sweating on cross trainers. She’s found other ways to manage that don’t involve actively working out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	46. Popular fallacies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

* * *

##  ** Troy **

That he’s delicate.

It’s such a pervasive belief that he’s learned to roll his eyes and deal with it at this point, that fighting against it won’t lead to anything. He’s _tried_.

Troy’s slight build and missing arm coupled with his _shocking height_ has always left people describing him as frail or weak looking, _fragile._

He’s not. They are completely misreading him, seeing lack of body fat and a slender torso and thinking they mean the same thing on a man of his size as they would someone smaller. They _don’t._

Troy spent most of his formative years scaling terrain on Nekro that makes Pandora look like a playground. He’s hunted game with nothing but a small knife and his physical strength - **with _one arm_.**

His height and long limbs make him look wiry, but the strength of his core is _shocking_ and his resilience to physical damage inhuman.

Regardless of the chronic illness and spells of fatigue that people misunderstand for _physical weakness_ so often, Troy is housing half a God. He is a Siren.

He’s taken a bayonet on livestream during a raid and just _yanked it out_ of his ribcage like it was a thorn. Mechanics have balked in shock as he’s effortlessly lifted and held a panel sheet of iron in place while inspecting the Mechanicum, muscle shifting like coiled springs. He’s ripped limbs from sockets with his bare hand in melees, and STILL people forget moments later.

They switch from awe, to remembering him as the weak twin: the frail God. The _broken King_.

It’s an advantage, really.

People who see the Father of the COV as an easy target realise how wrong they are far too late, when his teeth are at their throats… and they don’t get time to warn others not to make the same mistake.

##  ** Tyreen **

That she’s being controlled by her twin.

She has _no idea_ how the fuck this rumor started but it’s been around forums and fansites for YEARS with no sign of slowing.

Troy tried to explain it before: that there were people who love Tyreen so much they couldn’t let themselves believe she did things _they didn’t like,_ or it would be like some kind of betrayal.

It would be like she was this perfect woman they wanted or liked to imagine was theirs, and then it turned out she wasn’t their ideal, so they would find a scapegoat instead.

He’d shrugged - said of course it would be him… and it had been.

She _hates_ this shit. It’s insulting, genuinely. The level of conspiracy bullshit needed to even consider it is painful, and yet it’s there. Whispered about on speciality sites, randomly cropping up in stream comments.

> _Troy made her do that_.
> 
> _Tyreen would never say this_.
> 
> _She looks scared at 4:15 and you see her eyes flick to the side like she’s being threatened off screen_
> 
> _He’s manipulating her, the signs are all there, she needs help_

It’s fucking **insulting**. The fact that a notable group of her followers think her so weak, so pathetic that _Troy_ would be in control of her actions? It’s _all her_. She’s exactly who she fucking wants to be, Tyreen is her _own_ God.

Troy’s convinced there is no point in trying to combat it, reassures her it’s always going to happen and always does for anyone with a following… specially women. She refuses to leave it be and has her own ways of proving them wrong.

Early morning unprompted selfie-cam streams of bringing him coffee and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he laughs at the peck on his cheek and her -

> _“Oh you’re SUCH a monster, aren’t you”_

Snapshots on her socials of him in baggy pants rolling a joint for her -

> _“Bein’ abused again :’( look at the state of this roll-up.”_

It’s funny, it’s cute. The fans love it and so does Troy.

She likes that response in a way. Gives her a little flicker of something she remembers as happiness.

##  ** Seifa **

That she has things under control.

In general, she’s seen externally as having a relatively decent grip on her understanding of self and the role and world she finds herself in, but Sei has _no clue_ what the fuck is going on half the time.

Like, holy shit. She has NO IDEA what is going on, she’s just very good at pretending to have things under her thumb.

Not only do the upper departments of the COV run as multiple small companies that barely even communicate with each other while also dealing with constantly being undermined and sabotaged by other Saints and heads, but she has no real experience in leading in the first place.

She’s clutching at straws, constantly on edge, stressed to the core, with no-one around who can actually confirm for her that she’s doing things _right_. The fact that people _think_ she does is a huge reassurance for her, she can’t be fucking up that badly if most folks are happy, but… there is a damn reason you find Seifa in bottles so often. There’s a _reason_ she enjoys late nights out, forgetting everything for a few hours.

Her staff, friends, tenured old engis and mech hands are a lifeline of support that keeps her propped, but inside she feels like she’s crumbling and spends far too long every day fighting the urge to just _run_ and take her chances. She won’t, it’s a stupid idea and she’s not _that_ dumb, but mannnnnn.

People come to her for advice, she’s looked to for guidance, she’s seen as someone with a good head for what needs to be done and a great solution provider, but she’s lost most of the time - scrabbling to keep her confidence intact.

Sei could do with just being told to _relax_ for a couple of weeks. Be sent on vacation or banished to a resort for a month.

It’s just not an option as things currently are, not as the COV heaves with growth daily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! 
> 
> Please feel free to comment here too, I love feedback and interacting with readers is always a treat!


	47. Negotiations, and Paper thin Gods (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW - Violence, animal death
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## Negotiations / Paper thin Gods- **Guest writer[](https://godkingsanointed.tumblr.com/post/621672452157816832) [godkingsanointed](https://godkingsanointed.tumblr.com/post/621672452157816832)**

**TW - Violence, animal death**

* * *

### Negotiations

The bar was lively tonight, a few of the friendlier patrons lining up and telling stories as Moxxi served, JK assisting. They where on the subject of childhood misadventures. Tales of dinosaur racing gone wrong on Eden-6, of vandalism on Promethia, juvenile piracy on Aquator. Moxxi threw in a few of her own - hacking, hotrodding, aggravated assault, the usual. It was a good time, and a social drinking energy JK was still getting used to. No fighting here, no sloppy knife work to keep in mind.

They open their mouth to speak, provide a story of their own. They must have one right? What about that time that one winter, the first raid they where part of? How they’d been so small they had to run to keep up with the march of the others? They remembered hearing laughing as they where shoved to keep up, was that the same? It must be. It must have been a family joke, even if it split their lips when they fell forward into rocks. They run a tongue over scarred skin. * _it split their lips…_ *. A slight shake of their head to clear out an unwanted echo. Maybe that story wasn’t right.

Maybe the one about their brother bringing home a hurt baby skag? The one they raised in secret? Yeah! MissileLauncher! Raised her up till she was big, twice as big as them. A guard to listen out when they slept, keep them warm with lots of cuddles. Well. Until they where found out. They took her away. But that was good right? Skags are dangerous after all. ‘Cept they did bring her back. She was different then. Angry. Snarling. Clan said this was how you raise something right. That if they wanted to mess with life and death they better be prepared. It didn’t feel right when they set her on them. When she bit into their arm. When they had to take a blade to her. No matter how they cheered, or gave them an earned name for taking out an adult skag with a Jackknife.

The memories had blind sided them, but in the revelry it went almost unnoticed. Only Moxxi saw the complete stillness, heard the gentle “It’s ok, shhh no it’s ok. It wasn’t your fault” cooing to nothing, to themself. They where grounded by familiar arms around their waist, the loving and hidden concern in the gaze of the woman who rested a head against their shoulder. “Ok but let me tell you about this one right here ok? They're not just a good pair of arms, are you sugar?”. She didn’t give them a chance to slip inward again until the night was over, singing their praises until the whole bar would swear blind that JK was some kind of… _ **saint.**_

* * *

### Paper thin Gods - Late COV

There’d been a murderous silence the whole way back to the cathedral. A rendezvous gone bad had left Troy seething. The agents had been expecting Tyreen for their briefing, and had made their…disappointment plain. After a slog of a mission they had obviously had second thoughts about this whole “religion” thing, and decided that Troy was an easy target for their frustration. Two against two (though they never counted the God-King as a threat),and the opportunity to sell off holy raiments with a little luck. Jak-knife had sensed hostility immediately, but Troy continued still talking shit them and throwing verbal weight around for a job not done to his standards. One had snapped with no warning and he hadn’t been ready for it, this wasn’t how people reached in his pre-performed scripts.

There’s a flinch response to violence. Unless it happens regularly, unless fight or flight is trained through repetition, those first stunned moments are inevitable. For Troy it was a thing untrained. The bandit had rushed him so quick that Troy didn’t know what had happened until the traitor hit the ground. Jak-knife had stepped in front with a shiv, allowing him to skewer himself and throwing him aside as they turn to face the other one. He was stuttering, begging, pleading. But not to him. * _that’s not how it’s supposed to be_ * was all the thinking he could manage as his bodyguard silenced the coward for good. * _they where supposed to fear ME not this…little nobody, this…,this isn’t fair_ *. Troy hadn't said another since but Jak-knife knew what was coming, and braced for it. Tonight would be…rough.

He went from silence to barking orders immediately when they got back, any acolyte would do. He wanted to see them jump, freeze, scramble to please him. He wanted them to squirm as he just had, like maybe petty shows of power would overwrite what had just happened. Like if he shouted loud enough he could remind himself and his guard who he was supposed to be. Jak-knife trailed behind him a few steps, sending quick echo messages to Tyreen and Seifa about his mood. An outburst was sure to come so better to take the brunt and move on. The petty display continued until the all but deserted hallways to the God-kings chambers. He spun on his heels, looming as best he could, jaw muscles tightening with the threat of distending.

“Take.It.off.” He nodded aggressively to the mask the bandit was never seen without. “I want to see exactly what kind of fucking * _runt_ * skag you are under there.” Jak-knife only crossed their arms, looking up at him with their head tilted to the side. The lack of reaction at all was more humiliating than the violence, and only served to fuel his attacks. “You heard me you son of a bitch! I didn’t need you back there! Your just a fucking pet who thinks their a guard dog, so do as your commanded! I’m your **God** , so * _take off the mask_ *!”. What followed was silence as Troys chest heaved in outrage, fully in his guard's face now. They hadn’t reacted much more and he was trying to calculate how far he was willing to push this, in all honestly he was itching to throw them as far as the metal arm would allow.

“…You're not my God ,you're my brother. So _take off the bracer_.” They nodded towards the cover for his shoulder scars, the cover for his greatest insecurity, a deadly blasphemy to even mention.

The reaction was instant and explosive, a metal hand snatching them up at the ribs an bringing them in close to squeeze the life from them. Fuck it, they thought, already pushed it this far. The second Jak-knife was close enough they grabbed him by his hair, forcefully mashing their foreheads together so they could look him in the eye. If this was it then they wanted him to live with * _exactly_ * what he’d done. “Now you understand what you're asking of me, you rat fucking bastard” they hissed as metal fingers punctured skin. “Crush all you want, but I’d rather die than live by the bullshit rules of your ego”. This was echoed by a large crack, more than two ribs if memory of a similar injury served.

They gritted teeth and kept focus on his eyes. No blacking out, no making this easy for him. Though they cursed themselves as, even with him half crushing them, their chest still ached to see his tears. It seemed they bled out all his rage and they where dropped like a ragdoll all at once. Troy stood frozen in panic over them like a child who just broke something they shouldn’t have as Jak-knife gasped for air. The adrenalin had started wearing off and it was getting darker and harder to hear as troy made a frantic call to…someone. They couldn’t make out what he was saying anymore but he stopped to repeat * _something_ * many times before they heard approaching footsteps. He locked himself away in this room as soon as whoever it was arrived, unable to answer what they assumed where questions on what had happened. Wherever had come to help was trying very hard to keep them conscious, but they couldn’t help but close their eyes. They heard a brother calling…one that had died then, once upon a time. “Give me strength” they pleaded with the specter.

“I have to die in his place, not by his hand.” They didn’t get to test if this strength was granted however, because seconds later it all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	48. Solomon Blatcjky / Ur-Aurum / Saint of Finances (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

The Saints were originally intended to have equal power within the COV and that no department head would hold sway over another, but that’s ended up a lie. Finance controls _everything_ , Sol heads the financedept. _.._ and _Troy owns it._

He’s not in this position through chance, he’s exactly where he wants to be. It’s what he’s clawed towards since the day he founded the Children of the Vault alongside the Calypso Twins.

Solomon Blatcjky is a cut throat broker and stock market expert with decades of experience under his belt, and apparently no morals to speak of. His reputation proceeds him, and while he may be a little person, he casts a _long shadow._

Sol spent most of his adult life building his career out of other people’s bank accounts on Harrier, a silicon valley-esque tax haven moon in Promethea’s orbit who’s tiny landmass is crowded by the corporate and mega-conglomerate skyscrapers it’s covered by. 

He was known for a near vicious focus on providing results for his employers, and a complete lack of humor while doing so. He’s stony faced, profit motivated, and **driven** \- excellent traits for a moneymaker on your side, but ones that have left him plenty of enemies in his trade. He doesn’t work well with others and doesn’t partner in general, preferring to have complete control over projects himself and removing the risk of failure relying on someone else can cause.

He’s got a keen eye and razor sharp instinct, so when he first caught sight of two ratty kids online and noted their shocking count growth in the week period he’d tuned in to their e-com drivel, he sank his fangs into an opportunity other’s hadn’t sniffed out yet.

It didn’t take much, some official type work mailed to their studio address in that rusty docker town on Pandora, an invite to Harrier and a pair of first class shuttle tickets so they could “Discuss what he’d like to offer”, and they’d taken the bait. Scrawny, disheveled, and _reeking_ of false confidence Sol saw through like a veneer, they’d sat in his office and stared wide eyed around it. 

The Twins had never seen anything like the luxury he worked in, still only starting to get used to Pandora’s dry barrens and beginning to forget Nekrotafeyo’s cool hues. They were _beyond_ out of their league here, trying to hide the shake of excitement in their limbs behind practiced theatrical gestures as Sol sat calmly, listening to their bravado about their followers, their family, lofty goals, all while covering his artisanal leather chairs in the red dust that coated their extravagantly pathetic outfits.

He’d grinned politely. Nodded along. Agreed with the loudmouth woman and offered reassuring comments to the apprehensive man, noting mentally which of the two were going to be the one he’d need to _work_ on to convince.

His offer was unbelievable, and Troy, even with his then layman’s understanding of financing he’d learned from their months with Seifa, was wary. Solomon’s full attention, broker services, stock rights and acumen… all for a _tiny_ profit-percent based fee.

They had nothing to give him and Troy knew that. $5k in savings was all they had to their names, barely anything left from what Sei had given them for their ship after the majority had gone on streaming equipment and the tech they needed. They were making a profit now sure, numbers were already growing explosively, but this man was not someone who worked for anything less than 9 digits a year. What was he gaining in this deal?

It was Tyreen that spoke up, clumsily but to the point at least, asking him why someone like him would take $5k and turn it into real money for them when that’s all they had, why would he give them all this time if he could do the same for Hyperion or Maliwan or fucking… Torque, and earn so much more?

He had smiled back, completely devoid of actual warmth, and told the Calypso twins it was because _he_ **believed** _in them._

That was enough for Tyreen who was more than happy to welcome another worshipper into the fold, but not for Troy. He had suspicions that itched at the back of his mind for days after his sister had shook Sol’s hand and sealed the deal, so he did what would come to be a process he relied on through his future to understand other’s motivations - he dug into Solomon’s history. 

It was airtight. Flawless performances in every position he’d worked in, excellent reviews, dirt free publicly, but privately?

It seemed Sol’s reputation was under threat on Harrier. He was well known for being cutthroat and emotionless, so when clients he’d worked with in the past vanished, or competitors had been found assassinated in their luxury condos, it had made sense for the corporate rumor mill to target him. Wether the murmurs were true or not didn’t matter, the damage was building and Troy realised that spotting the inexperienced twins had been an out. He MUST have genuinely believed he could turn their newborn fame into something intensely profitable or he’d not have approached them, and this man clearly was someone who’s opinion on success viability could be _trusted_. 

Troy spent long video calls with him in private, explained very clearly that he would appreciate Sol’s expertise but that _any_ step out of line, _any_ act that put his _sister_ , his _media syndicate_ , or his _money_ in danger, would be met with termination of the completely **permanent** kind. 

Sol had assured him he’d understood, and they’d finalised the contract. 

He’s has been part of the COV before it had a name, and he has **no** plans to leave.

By the time the Holy City was founded a couple of years later, he was running all of financing as the Saint of the department, mostly still from his office on Harrier. He doesn’t like Pandora, he doesn’t like the word **Tink,** and he definitely does not like the planet’s inhabitants, but he can still be found in the Grand Cathedral on official business at times. 

Sol has dropped all clients, no one can possibly match the zeros coming in at the ends of the COV profit numbers at this point, and by late COV he’s still on the percent profit based salary the twins agreed to 8 years ago. 

The results he pulls for them are astronomical, but he’ll do so at the cost of any other person, or town, or planet, and Troy has found it easier to turn a blind eye than investigate too deeply in WHAT Sol is investing their money in - who’s stocks he buys, or how the companies and industries the COV cannibalises are treated.

Seifa has inklings, but her work relationship with Sol needs to stay amicable and, uh, she’s fucking **terrified** of him to boot. Everyone is, and she’s not willing to risk his retaliation for her getting _too nosy_. They say people go missing who do that. She’s not sure where the rumor started, but there’s no smoke without fire.

That’s Solomon Ur-Aurum...

A little man casting a _long_ shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	49. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

> Seifa’s thoughts on isolation and the loss of her friends and _the twins_ , having fled the Holy City towards late COV.

She mostly deals with it by being so goddamn _angry_ with herself.

Every new update from the city is a reminder of her utter failings over the last 5 years. She fucked up. Completely and utterly. She made every wrong choice she could have. She walked _straight_ into every mistake that she should have been smart enough to see coming, and she’s pissed. Constantly pissed with **herself**.

It’s inescapable, there is no one else to blame. 

If a friend had told her they were planning on taking the steps she had - settling with a cult, not cutting ties with its leaders even if _she cared_ about them, putting down roots when that way of life had never worked out before, she would have laughed at their naivety. And still, she’d charged ahead and done it all anyway. like she was better than the people she would have advised against it, as if it wasn’t going to be a mistake if she did it. Like things were somehow going to _work out_ because it was _her_ making these shitty choices and not someone else… stupid, egotistical moron.

She wasn’t herself out here, she was lonely, something Sei had never felt before, had never been in a position to feel. Really lonely, and the messages from oil hands, friends in the city, or traders with ears on the ground and fingers on their ship ignitions ready to rocket off-planet and pretend they’d never heard of the Children Of The Vault? They just keep _cutting deeper._

Ven, JK, Eli, a hundred scarred faces of mechs and engineers with missing teeth and twinkling eyes, drinking buddies, hell, even some of the clergy - she’d had friends there and nothing on this outland base. Just a title and a lot of fearful glances, the luxury quarters of a Saint, and the lingering fear of being _hunted down_ as one. Thank fuck she still seemed to have friends in very high places… but then again, **that** was one of her _mistakes_.

She’d let people in, given little pieces of Seifa to those she cared about rather than hoarding those facets safely like she always had before. Now she was weak, isolated on this shitty little dead planet surrounded by asslickers and morons, spread too thin and too far apart in the hands of other people to be safe and whole in herself anymore. She wasn’t a rock, she didn’t feel like _her_. She was unsure.

Sei had put down roots on Pandora when she’d known damn well it was a bad idea. She’d played pretend that this was a long term gig, that it wouldn’t go tits up for once, that she’d be able to scrape out some mockery of a life with the same faces and the same friendships and a family of some sort. Stupid. That wasn’t something people like her got, she’d.. she’d set up a _home_ for fuck’s sake, hung ornaments from the ceiling, potted goddamn plants like a little girl playing house. Idiot.

There was a strain in Eli’s messages, his upbeat friendliness didn’t flow the way it used to, voice mails had an edge to his laughs, the energy wasn’t there. He was drained, the world she’d run from was weighing heavy on someone who didn’t deserve the burden or the pain. His brother was breaking and it was impossible to miss. 

Ven would drop painful truths in between jokes with her when they would call or message, he’d share updates on the city and districts. Hint that Troy was pushing him far further than he could manage, demanding flawless results in every project or operation the departments he managed ran, then turning on _Ven_ if he hadn’t warned of poor outcomes when the inevitable happened. That hadn’t been part of his contract, that _wasn’t his job._

Ven’s foresight had been offered to the twins as a way of steering major choices towards the best possibilities, but he’d been clear even when he first approached them that Siren touched futures were blurry and difficult to read. He’d guide them, and he **had** in return for the medical support Eli needed like they’d agreed on when he joined the cult, but Troy’s desperate fixation on perfectionism was eating him alive while working him to the bone. Ven was losing himself to exhaustion and fear of what would happen to his brother if he stopped being _useful to Tyreen_ … and Seifa wasn’t there to help.

Jak-Knife would send on photos mostly, things they thought would make her smile. Landscapes, the dunes at night, the lower city in the early morning as grates steamed and cool sunlight gleamed off chrome and neon. Delicate waxy petals of desert blossoms, a flock of Rak outlined against the moons. Their text updates were sporadic, they had still been learning to read and write when she’d left, but Ven filled her in often. 

They were falling apart.

Weight lost and muscle heavy over bones now, The Blight Devil was torn between serving the twins and protecting their people. Troy’s Vanguard and the Crusaders as a whole were stretched thin, overworked. JK was leading raid after raid with no time to rest, being pushed as hard and for the hours on end that Troy forced himself to, and Ven’s concern was palpable. They were going to get hurt, he’d said. And they had. She wasn’t sure if it was the injury, or the betrayal of a brother’s cruel claws that would take longer to heal.

She missed the twins desperately. Both of them differently, but both of them still. 

Tyreen was terrifying even now. Every time a new message arrived treating this situation like it _didn’t exist_ , like everything was normal and she hadn’t spent a year threatening Seifa with gallows humour and a smile that never reached her eyes, she felt that grim panic again. Even then, she missed her so _much_. Missed that beautiful girl with the laugh like tinkling glass and nothing but a drive to be loved fueling her. Missed the late nights, the long talks, the bitching about a lanky asshole.

Troy… she’d let Troy _get far too close_ , and he was eating her alive. 

Another stupid fucking mistake she knew was wrong but had walked into regardless, like she had pretended she couldn’t see it coming. Sei had told herself it would never happen again, sworn that _“love”_ shit was **over** well before she’d met the twins, and yet it had happened anyway. He’d been so broken and so _alone_. She’d cared too much, pitied him enough that she’d slowly, painlessly, split her ribs apart and taken him in, embraced the flickering light of who she saw he could _be_ if given the chance.

She’d protected him inside the cage of herself for so long that she’d not even noticed _when_ it was he’d sunk gilded fangs into her heart. God, she wanted to fucking dig him out now, claw him out of her chest like rot, but it was too late. She’d been too stupid. Cutting him away now would bleed her dry. She couldn’t even run because of him, and that’s all she’d ever been really... good at. Running, being free. Now she was trapped by the threads she’d woven herself into willingly, it was all her fault.

He wouldn’t respond, and being ignored would be bearable if he wasn’t still sending her things. The idiot, the pathetic _joke_ of a man, refusing to reply to any of her concerns but still making sure she knew he was thinking about her, like the packages of components she’d mentioned being interested in years ago, or the gifts of jewellery that suited her better than any she’d think of choosing meant _anything_ in comparison to just saying **sorry**. Like he was punishing himself by refusing to communicate and not understanding how much it was hurting _her too_.

God.

She found herself often thinking she never should have helped them. That if she’d laughed at Ty, kept walking and ignored her pleads for help instead, maybe she would have found someone _else_ in that junk yard. Someone who would have helped her and Troy properly... helped them better than a train wreck like Seifa could have. That maybe they would have turned out ok.

Maybe all three of them would be happy and the COV wouldn’t be scouring across Pandora like a cancer. That maybe, in the end, it was all her fault for pretending to be a _good person_ and helping, when she knew damn well she wasn’t. She was just trash, it was all she’d ever really been.

The updates from planet side confirming what she knew would happen just made it worse, every day. Rubbed in the failures, made her ignored messages sting sharper. She missed her friends. She missed the Twins she’d known, she missed that stupid, pointless fake little life she’d lied to herself she might have. Every day is just another tick on a sheet, a fraction of herself and the woman she was slipping away, and a step closer to running and **never looking back**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	50. Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

### How does she see Troy?

She’s perfectly aware he’s beautiful. He has a great body and a “unique” build he knows how to decorate, but he doesn’t occupy the part of her brain that links to attraction.

She can look at him and give him honest feedback on how he appears, compliment him, give him advice, but Troy acts like a _child_. He’s a lanky boy in a man’s body, he’s someone she’s stripped naked and cleaned the wounds of, who’s fever sweat and puke she’s scrubbed out of her crew quarter’s cubby beds.

He is maturity wise someone _so much below her_ that he’s firmly slotted into brother, or son, or cousin, or .. she doesn’t really know what exactly, but **not** someone to lust over.

He physically ticks all her boxes, but not mentally. His power and wealth are _nice_ , his physical presence and strength are _exactly_ what she’d normally chase, but he’s an ally, or a responsibility, or a dear friend. He’s something _other_.

He’s immature, she’s not. Even in his twenties with infinite authority and practical Godhood over billions, he has **NO** life experience. He feels like a kid - like a teen playing dress up, faking who they are, living a game.

It’s only years later when she returns and sees him at his lowest, at the absolute bottom of his fall, that she realises he’s changed. When she notes that he no longer lashes out as a coping mechanism for his own failures, that he’s turned it inwards. He’s quiet and sad and broken, but he blames himself now, not her, or his subordinates, or his worshippers, not his sister or friends.

It’s only when she really understands he’s begun to assemble himself without turning to someone _else_ for the strength he needs, that Seifa sees he’s a man now…

and she knows she’s _fucked_.

### What's the most vulnerable she's seen him pre COV?

She’d logged into her echo system one morning in the twin’s first week of staying with her and been floored by the search history. At first she’d thought it was funny, but as she read down through results, started piecing together the thought process that would lead from one to another, it stopped making her smirk. It started to be _worrying_.

The twins were weird. They were very, **very** strange. She’d copped that the moment she met Tyreen, when she’d seen a 20 year old with the savvy of a child trying to mug her with a broken Maliwan SMG with shaky hands and a snotty tear covered face. As she’d spoken to the filthy looking woman, more and more questions had come to front. How **was** she _alive_ if she was this incapable of survival on Pandora. Why was she so .. off? Why was she confused and lost, why would she think Seifa in her junker armor and jewelry would have MEDICINE in her hip satchel?

She’d known taking the twins back would be a risk, but one of them was for all intents and purposes _dead_ , and the other didn’t know how guns worked. Her curiosity and penchant for pity had overwhelmed her fear.

Seeing what the adult man recovering in her crew bunk had been searching for was.. disturbing. 

> _Questions on bodies, averages between male and females, anatomy, what was menstruation, how did twins get born, was being together alone normal, how long did mothers live normally, how do men talk, how do women walk, how long does it take for scars to stop hurting, when do you know if you have stopped growing_.. 

This stuff was _frightening_. You’d see this from a young teen, not a towering adult man.

She’d waited till Tyreen had gone to sleep for the night and approached him, still silent and frightened in her presence, still jumpy and awkward if she moved too fast. 

Told him she’d guessed they had been alone a _long time_. 

That he could ask anything and so could his sister. 

He’d looked at her with cold, sad eyes, before turning his back to her and pretending to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	51. A smile (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

###  _Late COV:_

Troy would rather be anywhere than here right now he figured, rolling exhausted eyes as Mouthpiece's crackling drone blanketed the hall of worship.

He could be working. He could be doing something _useful_ like maybe having a wank in his quarters, or playing Truxican Roulette. Blowing his brains out right now sounded like a treat honestly, anything other than sitting here like a propped up figurehead next to his sister's empty seat, stuffed into this packed banquet hall and surrounded by what he could only politely describe as " _rancid assholes_ ".

Bar JK and Eli, of course.

They were the only real reason he was attending honestly, he could have come up with the same kind of excuse Tyreen had and bailed. It was easy enough to bullshit up some "Deity business" and skip one of these mind numbing ceremonies, but this was in honor of the media department's latest branding push success and as much as Troy knew he was anything but what could be considered a _good_ friend... leaving two of his last remaining confidants to face the night alone was too much of a dick move even for **him**.

He fidgeted against the throne behind him as the speech continued, trying to shift a particularly stubborn underwire from where it poked into the small of his back. It wasn’t _fair_ , Ty should be here too if he had to be, jammed into uncomfortable ceremonial wear just like what he was currently dealing with. Like he wasn’t in a foul enough mood already without needing to puff the feathers that crowned his collar out of the side of his eyes every few minutes, and the _accessories?_ Man. 

Her makeup and costume team needed to tone this shit down. He understood their goal was to make the twins “look the part” for these kinds of events, but he was pretty sure at least 2 ropes of gold chain were mashed somewhere under his breastplate already and peeling them out of indents in his clammy skin later was just another little joy to look forward to once this bullshit was over.

Father Troy was fairly certain that wasn’t something _actual_ God’s had to deal with.

He could just about make out Eli's beaming grin through the incense smoke if he squinted across the room, stood proud if slightly crooked next to Mouthpiece with the rest of the broadcast team at the end of the massive banquet table as his Saint praised their excellent performance this quarter. Good. He deserved it. He worked harder than most people Troy had come across in that department and with almost irrepressible drive, despite the limitations of his health. It was something that had twinged in his guts about Eli almost from the day he'd first come face to face with the man penned 50 times throughout Ven's contract, something he understood better than he'd ever feel comfortable enough to really admit. He _got_ it, and that's why he was here right now, even if Eli may not even notice Troy had shown up.

He huffed a sigh, pressing his cheek harder into the cybernetic's palm as he braced it on the edge of the tablet in front of him, slumping forward to take some weight off his twitching back. Jk was unmoving to his left, sitting stoic as always, a gentle reassurance mirrored in their crossed arms and stiff body language that they were hating this about as much as he was - or at least he hoped that's what they were hating. They had been silent since before the ceremony started, taking their seat behind the heavy golden alter table the twin thrones and Saint's decorated chairs surrounded.

Jak-Knife had snapped at him yesterday, _again_.

It had been his fault, a clumsily growled insult towards the Vanguard that had dripped from his mouth before he'd caught it. That was happening a lot recently, and Troy had noticed even if others might think he was ignorant of the decline. Saying things he didn't mean, feeling the words coat themselves in venom soon as they slipped across his traitorous tongue, hurting people when he didn't _want_ to...

He glanced around the heaving room, braziers filling the stone hall with dancing warm light glinting off the frescos and stained glass. The lower tables were crammed with worshippers and clergy, none of which were listening to the speech that should have ended an hour ago either. Mouthpiece's sermon was nearly entirely drowned out by the chuckles of laughter and animated discussions the gathered masses filled the halls with as they ate. It was almost welcoming, like a _real_ family in its warmth and not the waiting steel trapjaws of the "belonging” the COV promised, but Troy saw the empty spaces.

There were too many empty seats around his throne he'd rather be filled right now.

God.. he was so tired.

Deciding JK did in fact hate him and attempting to prompt a conversation would only make things worse, he reached into his coat pocket with his left hand and slid his E-Dev across his lap, glancing down to check in on updates from the relative privacy of the table edge's shadow.

_460 new message since this morning._

Fuck.

Troy screwed his eyes closed and held his breath, wincing subtly at the burn in his chest. He didn't have the energy for this, mental or physical. The ceremony had _hours_ before it ended and Tyreen had promised him she'd handle the backend of the management tasks while he was here. She'd **promised** when he’d agreed to fill in for her and attend this despite only just being back from the Eridium Tier meet’n’greet on Demophon. She’d begged and pleaded with him, and when he’d accepted reassured over and over that it wouldn’t be an issue, she’d take care of everything and he could zone out till it was over... and he’d _believed_ her. _Fucking idiot_ he thought to himself **,** exhausted eyes merging the numbers together as he scrolled downwards to the priority tab.

_8 messages - All from *Ven*_

He sighed out raggedly, feeling JK shift next to him in response. Aware, but polite enough to not draw attention to his discomfort, a subtle gesture of support even if they weren't in the mood to waste words on him.

Flicking his eyes around the hall again and noting no one was paying attention to the quiet King, he swiped his thumb across the notification alert and began to shift through Ven's messages.

He wanted to burst into laughter about half as much as he wanted to sob, and he closed his eyes, slipping the index finger of his prosthetic over the bridge of his nose to press in and _pinch_. The E-Dev hummed a quick vibration against his lap as it registered the command to delete the messages, and he let out a shaky breath, the pulse of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out the collected chatter of the hall.

He wanted to _go home_.

He wanted to just.. pick up Eli, toss JK over his shoulder, ping Ven, and _drag Tyreen_ into a pile in Sanctum, then blast off Pandora and go **find** Seifa. Go back to before all this shit. Go back to not feeling a friend's fury on his left and his sister's empty seat on his right. Go back to Ven's laughter being _easy_ and Eli not looking at him with some mix of pity and fear. Go back to Sei _liking_ him and having a twin who cared if he was alive. 

No Gods, no _3 hour long wankpile speech being given by a masked asshole he couldn't stand but had to attend_ , go **home**... take them all to Nekrotafeyo and be _happy_.

Troy jumped out of his reverie at the touch to his leg, snapping sideways to come face to face with Jak-Knife's mask leaning towards him in concern. 

He gambled a slight smile in response and felt a wave of relief at their subtle nod, then returned to stare forwards at the plated food cooling in front of him as they did the same, though neither had so much as touched their meals. Everyone else was enjoying the banquet it seemed, bar JK and himself. Them clearly not in the mood to eat, and he not sure his body would stomach it right now. His shoulders drooped as he leaned harder on the table. 

At least the slums wouldn't go hungry tonight.

JK turned in his peripheral vision, twisting towards the tinkling sound of a drinks tray being offered by an acolyte, and he watched quietly from the corner of his eye as they reached for a goblet filled with a rich merlot next to a purp-

" _Jak-Knife_!!"

His voice cracked and they paused, hand on the glass as they turned to meet his eyes with their lenses. He flinched, clearing his throat in an attempt to redeem some of his damaged ego as the woman serving them's eyes lit with stifled mirth.

"The uh.. the _purple_ one. Take that instead. It's better."

JK's hand moved without them looking back, still staring directly at him as their fingers closed around the other drink. They nodded gently to the server as they brought the glass forward and onto the table in front of them, eying it suspiciously.

"What is it...?" they grumbled through the respirator, quiet enough to be just for his ears.

Troy felt his confidence deflate again, slumping down a little in his seat despite still being a head taller than them. 

"I don't know. V-Ven said it was good, I think. I can't eat right now b-but Ven said, V-Ven said.."

JK waved him off with a subtle hand movement, lifting their mask to tip the glass between their lips and sipping far more delicately than could be expected from a mouth so rough.

They paused, and for just a second dread spiked into his stomach. A sudden, gut gripping fear that he'd made a horrific mistake and something had just gone terribly wrong, till he noticed the excited bounce of their knees under the edge of the table, and the telltale flexing of their hand that he'd learned over the years meant JK was about to _burst_.

" ** _Cactusberry!_** " they hissed, turning rapidly to him and nearly spilling the drink clutched like a treasure to their chest. 

"That's cactusberry Troy! Wine? Wine I think?" the crackle of the mask's filter made it sound like they'd hiccuped in excitement mid-word, and he couldn't help the smile that bloomed across his face, all teeth and crookedness.

They moved closer, shoulder pressing against his arm as they gestured for him to lean down and lower his ear closer to their mask.

"Did I ever tell you about the time me an' my friend found a whole _patch_ o' cactusberry in fruit out in the salt flats? With the Skags? And the _missing eye??_ "

Troy shook his head with a husky laugh, eagerly leaning closer as the words they stumbled over in hurried enthusiasm drowned out Mouthpiece's bullshit and the mind-numbingly empty conversations of the heaving masses around them.

He didn't care that their grip on his leg was getting painful, the night was _finally_ looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	52. The ripples of violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Tw: Gore and descriptions of violence)
> 
> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

### She wishes she didn’t know the answer to that - ** Late COV \- Pre Leech Lord - (Tw: Gore and descriptions of violence)**

** **

* * *

Seifa has _decent morals_ for someone who spends most of their time on Pandora, but that’s.. a very low bar. Like, a VERY low bar when you consider it.

She’s stepped over plenty of mummified corpses and not given them a second thought. You can’t shake a hand on this shit-hole without subtly picking deep red flakes off your fingers after, and you shouldn’t really waste too much time considering where they came from or.. ya know.

_You’re not going to last long here._

Violence is just a part of life for everyone who scrapes out survival on Pandora’s grimy surface. Even in the more “civilised” places, disagreements turn to cracked jaws then turn to gunshots _so quickly,_ no one really even bats an eye. So the Twin’s brand of _voyeur-violence-porn?_ It isn’t actually that shocking to anyone, including her.

She’s not _ok_ with it, it’s not something she finds any joy in knowing is happening, but the people involved either want it, or _deserve_ it, and that’s something Troy has been **VERY** careful to enforce since the founding of the COV. If he’s leading a raid and raking up a juicy view count, there’s a reason he’s there. They were slavers. They were sex traffickers. They attacked and ravaged a protected settlement. They _ate_ a camp of migrants. They stole supplies from a cult caravan on route to a village who’d begged for help.

He always has a _reason_ , and he’s never found pleasure in rampant cruelty… he leaves that to Tyreen and her rapid decline.

Troy doesn’t rip terrified sick folk from their shacks as they cower under the onslaught of his Crusaders, he doesn’t slap a child to the ground who points a rusty bayonet at him while trying to defend their sibling, his raids _only_ target the aggressors. If a camp of heretics yields and bows instead of attacking when his retinue set ground? No one’s going to die. There’s a place for _every_ sack of flesh in the COV, even if it was an enemy a week ago.

She sees the violence escalating over time, everyone does. He’s so _good_ at convincing it’s all about the views if concern is shown. Cites numbers and ratios honey thick through a wolf grin that’s so hard to trust yet _so impossible to fight,_ that you’ll believe him… but anyone can see the rage that’s building. How lost he’s getting in the throes. 

Everyone knows Troy is venting something _terrible_ out of himself as the years go on, but no one feels safe enough to raise it. Not because of what will happen to them… because of what will happen to **him**.

She was watching alongside the billions of others when the Maw ripped open the first time live, when that man’s bone and brain matter squelched out of the jaw’s side plates like some kind of fucking overripe _fruit_ , and she nearly blacked out.

Doesn’t remember getting to the toilet, doesn’t really remember throwing up, but remembers the loathing, the confusion, her memories of a lopsided crooked grin and squinty blue eyes feeling so monstrously _lost_ in whatever the fuck she’d just witnessed.

Troy never had any value for the clergy staff, priests and fanatics are driveling masses to him, but regular worshipers he always had a soft spot for. The down and outs, the disabled, the sick, the people who look to him over Tyreen were never people he’d lash out at and that still stands even when he’s at his worst, but the _clergy_ are taking the brunt of his non direct aggression and his now complete lack of patience with them is another major red flag for anyone watching closely enough.

She’s torn in half, this was the exact kind of shit she couldn’t continue to bear the weight of supporting him over, this was exactly _why_ she’d left.. but seeing him fall cut so much deeper then she ever could have prepared herself for, even if she knew damn well it was coming. They all knew.

He hasn’t changed in regards to physical violence. He’d always quickly put down a fanatic who showed disrespect to himself or someone he saw as with value, always treated them coldly and with a level of dominance that wasn’t exactly welcoming, but now he’s explosive in his temper, throwing their censers against walls, smashing heavy pews next to them, _snarling against a pinned priest’s throat for making the mistake of **looking** at him when a weak spell unbalanced his prowl_.

Troy is ready to snap, and the people who know him the closest know that when that time comes, it’s not going to be someone _else_ he attacks. 

She doesn’t tune to any of their raid streams again, hates herself for even feeling the urge to check in that time considering what happened. Between the updates from the city folk about the lashing out at acolytes and seeing the level of viciousness that’s being exerted on the _deserving_ , it’s very clear how low he’s fallen and how dangerously close to breaking he is.

She knows this is absolutely all him, everyone does. Watching the slow decline was too natural, too fitting. She wishes she could blame outside influences, but it’s **her** , it’s **Tyreen** , it’s **him** , it’s his **Oracle** , his **Aegis** , the people who call him **friend** , the **COV** … it’s every mistake they all made crashing down around them, and _no one knows what to do anymore_.

By the time she comes back, crestfallen, thin, and a shadow of the confidence she’d exuded 2 years ago, he’s all smiles and laughter through a torn up throat. Reminiscing and innocent, like none of it ever happened. Like he wasn’t bedridden, like it hadn’t driven him to this.

It _did_ happen, and its effects ripple outwards for some time after.

The comfort of finally feeling like things have a chance of becoming _right_ again is constantly interrupted by the unease of catching a glimpse of that jaw split, or the twitching claws of the prosthetic that betray his temper. He can flick between gentle and rabid in seconds if provoked by a low tier acolyte still, and everyone remains on edge.

It calms slowly, his friends are here, his support reconnects itself around him, and the weight of the responsibility, stress, and self hatred he’s been drowning under begins to lift. He sleeps, he eats, he’s not running on fumes and chems.

As time passes, he’s in such a better place mentally that he hasn’t lashed out in months, flaming temper replaced by cool intimidation.

The fangs are still there though, and no matter how much people care for him, they can _never_ forget what they know he’s capable of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	53. On the lowdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **Troy**

Loves animals but knows nothing about them:

  * Super interested in them in general, he watches a lot of documentaries and nature shows in his wind-down time but hasn’t a _clue_ about the basics people take for granted.
  * “A Rakk is just a Skag with wings right, cause they have the same kind of mouth? Isn’t it? _Uhh…”_
  * Would really like a pet or two but knows he couldn’t give them the time or care they would need, and deep down would hate the idea of “imprisoning” something that _loved him._



Great singer, can’t remember lyrics:

  * Natural singing voice is clear and pleasant to hear, he listens to music constantly but CANNOT recall lyrics no matter how hard he tries.
  * Sings gibberish to himself mostly.
  * You could ask him if he knew a track and recite the entire song to him and he’d just stare at you blankly, but hum just a part and he’ll immediately know the title, album name, release date, band, where he first heard it, how it made him feel, songs that are like it, oh have you heard the latest from Dank Meme Squadron actually they’ve been riff- 



Can’t visualise people at _all:_

  * Struggled with this a long time before slowly realising something was wrong.
  * If you ask Troy to draw a person, he will draw Ty, or Seifa, or his Dad. If you ask him what the high priest he was just talking to looks like, he will get frustrated. He can tell you what they were wearing, he can tell you what they smell like, he can _recognise_ them no problem, he just can’t _imagine other people_.
  * When he was trying to design their outfits early COV, he ran into block after block when trying to sketch out his till Tyreen asked him if he was trying to draw a person wearing it, or draw the clothes. Soon as he tried just drawing the clothes, it was immediate.
  * Troy doesn’t know what he looks like. What he visualises when he thinks of himself is very, very far from what other people actually see, and it’s _not_ good.



* * *

##  **Tyreen**

Loves haircare, is terrible at it:

  * Ty originally did all her own bleaching without really understanding what she was doing to her hair by bringing it to near white over and over.
  * It was past her shoulders in solid curls and something she was really proud of, till _it started snapping off in chunks one night_.
  * She ended up being rescued by Troy who buzzed the most damaged side and chopped into the other just in time for their next stream. He completely winged it, but it worked thank fuck.
  * She’s kept a far more refined version of that style since, and leaves the bleaching to a professional now. 



Misses home:

  * She misses Nekro constantly, but it’s something she will never, ever bring up. _Ever_. To **_anyone_**.
  * She knows what effect that would have on Troy, that he’d immediately break down and demand they go back, scream questions she wouldn’t be able to answer, like why are they even here if neither of them actually wants to be, or what’s the point of continuing this monstrous bullshit if they’d both be happier off Pandora and back home.
  * He wouldn’t understand it’s the _place_ she misses. Not living there, just the planet itself. 
  * Pandora is a tomb pretending to be alive. Nekrotafeyo was a beautiful, pulsing hum of life, wrapped around the bones of ancients. It’s _not_ the same. It doesn’t feel the same, and the Tyreen that’s still a woman and not whatever power is writhing beneath her skin is desperately aware that she’s not on Pandora because **_she_** wants to be…



Can’t spell for shit:

  * Has 30 spellcheckers and auto-grammar correctors on her E-Dev.
  * Didn’t listen to a word of what Leda would try to teach them each school day at home. It was boring and pointless, she can’t really be blamed. SHE had energy and wanted to go play and enjoy herself.
  * Her 1:1 E-coms are hilarious and cute and really genuine, and you know she really likes you when she starts letting the typos and mistakes send.



* * *

##  **Seifa**

Refined public appearance hides a vile little inner bastard self:

  * Knuckle deep in her nose any chance in private
  * Will go days without washing her hair if no one’s going to see her
  * Chews on toenails. Nightmare being.
  * Stinky. Dirty little poo poo shit child, disgusting in her natural habitat.



Has a real soft spot for kids:

  * Aware that if she’d had a very different life she probably would have liked a child of her own, but the reality she’s lived wasn’t one that would have ever, _ever_ worked out as a mother.
  * Misses being around them as much as she was in her early teens.
  * Pretty sure it’s why she gave Tyreen help in the first place, and knows if Ty hadn’t come across so much as a lost kid… Seifa would probably have just _kept walking_.



Was a **lot** less loyal when younger:

  * Like most Pandorans, Sei won’t put herself in danger for the sake of others, bar very, very valued friends. 
  * Ven, Jk, Eli and the twins are people she’d take a bullet for, but others? There are _very few._
  * When she was younger, she was even _more_ self-focussed on her survival over the wellbeing of others, and there are people who aren’t around now due to her putting her safety over theirs and abandoning a situation.
  * They weren’t _friends_ , but she still loses sleep over it, every now and then.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	54. Discomfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  ** Troy **

> “His Eminence leaves an _aggressive_ impression.”

Exactly what he likes to hear, except when it’s not.

Troy can’t just _turn off_ his threat level. He can’t relax and shift out of being intimidating when almost all of what frightens people about him is his appearance. He LOVES the cowering usually. Bitch fucking wallows in other people’s fear when that’s what he’s pushing his act for, but when people close to him mention it, even jokingly?

That hurts regardless of how he reacts to them, because he _can’t_ stop it from happening no matter what he tries.

Troy stalking across a battlefield with gore dripping down his torso, or dwarfing a competitor in a merger as he hisses spite down over their cowering shoulders is threatening… but so is Troy bolting enthusiastically towards Eli to show him a finished project. Or Troy stretching with a yawn, cat-like flexing making the bulk and scale of his build impossible to hide. Or Troy booming his cackling hyena bark laughter too loudly, or Troy looking too excited, or..

He has so many tricks to try and lessen it that he’s picked up over the years, things he employs subtly enough that very few people have ever noticed. Lowering his voice to a soft timbre when speaking to someone clearly anxious to report to him, hunching over to try and make his towering height less of a factor, tilting his head and neck to soften his profile and show he’s listening without aggression.

Troy will slowly lower himself to his _knees_ around someone he dwarfs and wants to show he’s not a threat to - that he’s not trying to position himself as the one controlling the conversation when they are clearly on edge with the subject. He’ll hold the bulk of his mechanical arm in his flesh hand and tucked as far from a person he’s speaking to as he can if they seem intimidating. He’ll loosen his expression and declaw everything about himself he can, but still..

> “We should just send the boss in, he’ll have them _seeing it our way in_ seconds, haha.”

It stings, because he can be _gentle too._

* * *

##  **Tyreen **

Despite her extremely confident demeanor in general, Ty _really_ doesn’t like being reminded of her naivety in that first year on Pandora.

It doesn’t make her angry or even _upset_ as such, but she flushes, tries to change the subject or redirect the conversation. It’s embarrassing for her even if it’s something she’d never explain to anyone else, and the thing that’s most surprising about it are the topics that remind her of it in the first place.

Early photos of her hair and makeup before she settled on her current style. Comments on her well enunciated and refined speaking manner in earlier broadcasts, compliments on her showmanship now and how much it’s improved since they started streaming, _nice_ things. Positive things that she still doesn’t really feel comfortable actually discussing because of what they remind her of.

Tyreen has worked _so hard_ to truly **be** the person she is now and leave behind the weaker self she emerged from, that reminiscing about it hurts in a completely different way to how her brother feels about what he left behind. _Neither_ of them like to talk about it, but while Troy shows clear distress that can lead into fury, Tyreen is awkward, _shy_.

She’s a God now. She doesn’t need to look back at the girl she was before.

* * *

##  ** Seifa **

> “She’s living the dream honestly, nothing chaining her down? Freedom? Made the right decisions, I’ll tell you. Can just bed whatever flavor of the month she’s got a taste for without any… _hassle_ from them after. That’s the way to do things!”
> 
> “Hah, yeah Sei, you’ve got everything the way you want it. Wish I’d travelled more when I was younger, shouldn’t have settled here so fast. Ah well.”

She’ll take the compliment, laugh it off and nod along with a cheshire grin… but holy shit does that knife slip **deep**.

Sei isn’t a free spirit by choice, it’s nothing but failures on her end that have left her in the position she’s in now.

She knows _other_ people don’t know that, knows they mean well and are looking at her lack of unwanted commitments and responsibilities through rose tinted lenses. She’d never show them how much it actually hurt, but…

If Sei really had her life under control, if she really _was_ making the decisions, she wouldn’t be living alone on a fucking space ship docked into a Death Cult’s hub city, cursing under war machines and hulking technical’s engines.

She’d be with the man she’d never found, with a life built from sweat and cold iron.. and maybe a few beers. Maybe a few _real kids_ too, rather than pretending she was satisfied with just being a kind of mother figure to an eclectic collection of adult ones.

Not that she’d change any of em now. Or… change _any_ of it now if she was honest. Bit fickle, she knows, but then again she was never a clever person when it came to her own wants.

Still though. That wide grin never quite reaches her eyes, and if anyone’s picked up on it, they’ve never said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	55. It comes before a fall (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

### Late COV

The craggy landscape of Pandora raced by outside the tinted windows of Troy’s massive technical as the COV war machines that escorted the glossy black hulk thundered around it in a convoy, weaving between the billowing clouds of acrid dust that trailed behind the God’s chariot as they bounced and jostled along the dirt road that lead to their backwater destination.

Its deified passenger wasn’t enjoying the trip _quite_ as much as his retinue, and was finding it difficult to deal with their raucous voices and blaring music audible over the roar of the vehicle’s engines as tires screeched over the rocky dirt road.

He rubbed at his temple, wincing quietly at each bump and grind of the car’s axles, and reminded himself _why_ he was wasting his precious time driving to this nameless little shithole.

_**Pride**._

Troy had reluctantly added the town to his itinerary after noting how close it was to the cult-controlled Eridium plant he’d scheduled to inspect with his vanguard today, it had been an irritant under his skin for long enough, and it seemed fitting to _gouge it out_ when he had a couple of hours to spare, regardless of how much he’d rather be in the Grand Cathedral right about now.  
  
The camp was a blip on the map he’d spent so long seeding across Pandora. An insignificant, pathetic speck of non COV land surrounded by the vast sprawl of the _Twin’s_ territory that had been in the back of his mind for months now. As his iron grip tightened on the region and the cult’s control had spread like a seeping cancer across the desert plains, the gaps had filled in piece by piece, all bar _this_ dive. He’d figured it was time to scratch the itch, they were going to be nearby anyway, just a couple of extra hours drive in the padded luxury of his chauffeured technical and they’d still have time to be back in the Holy City by nightfall, so why not. Get it done. Make the cut.

He just wished his skull wasn’t splitting as the car lurched, or there was some company with him to lighten the mood, give him something to listen to bar the shrieks and throbbing music of his crusaders. The day had been tiring enough, the threats and sneering orders he’d snapped at the plant workers took more out of him than he’d ever feel comfortable admitting. The technical was air-conditioned, comfortable, _armored_ , and his driver pleasantly silent, but the migraine wouldn’t budge. He was tired, tired in his fucking bones, and he couldn’t even _remember_ when the last time he hadn’t felt this way was. 

Everything was changing, or had already changed. He wasn’t sure which, but what he _did_ know was that _this_ , riding passenger in a 6 million dollar custom war-machine with a bottle of champagne in the platinum holder next to him he couldn’t pronounce, driving towards a shanty town with a retinue of bloodthirsty marauders who carved his name into their chests and performed rites of sacrifice in his image, _this_ was not what he’d signed up for. This wasn’t _becoming a star_ was it, _Tyreen_? 

This had turned over time into something else, and he was clawing to try and keep it under control now, constantly. Scrabbling to placate the rot in his gut that whispered it was _real_ , that he _was_ a God, and that these people _deserved_ what his cult **did** to them.

He rested his head against the blacked-out glass of the window, watching the retinue belch fire and smoke from hood-mounted exhausts while playfully attempting to push each other off road as they drove on, his guard’s excitement manifesting in triumphant yells and vicious warnings to _“Keep your distance” -_ blasted from car-mounted stereo equipment that echoed out across the wastes. He wished for a moment he could still feel that level of adrenaline, that rush of carefree blood-thirst his crusader’s inebriated themselves with on runs like this. Everything was just.. _grey_ now. Had been for a long time. He let his eyes fall closed, grounding himself. They’d arrive soon. He’d step out of this gilded cage of a car and into the spotlight. He needed to slip on the character. Place the mask. Play the part.

Time to have a nice little chat with them, an unannounced Holy visit. Find out _why_ exactly they hadn’t accepted the COV’s gracious offer to join in all this time… give them a _reason_ to believe.

* * *

As the town came into sight through the oily dust clouds in the distance ahead like a rusty blemish on the rocky horizon, he tensed, leaning to his side to get a straight view of it through the dark glass. A wave of disgust ran up his spine as they closed distance and the reality of its state came into focus, sharp eyes taking in the town’s condition while his retinue’s speakers turned toward it to blast an announcement of their God’s arrival.

It was tiny, _filthy_. Ramshackle junk housing stacked haphazardly on top of each other. Rusted cargo containers turned into homes for people with _nothing_ else to call their own, the crudely cut windows and doors fluttering with rags and patched together clothing set out to dry in the parched desert air.

It made you feel grimy just being here, he thought with a scowl as he stepped out of the technical, watching with disgust as the polished metal of his boots instantly turned dull when they crunched into the red clay beneath him. The God King flipped his fur collar higher and lazily swiped his hair into place with practiced indifference as the crusaders on either side of him _thundered_ forward into the village with weapons raised. His personal guard immediately began to establish a perimeter away from their King, herding and snapping at panicked townspeople with efficient, well trained, deadly _ease._   
  
He took a moment to assess the terrified crowd of inhabitants that had collected in fearful groups. They were cowering in doorways and stumbling back over each other with hands raised in submissiveness as his vanguard roared orders to “M _ake way for Father Troy”_ , parents calling their scrawny children with frantic gestures to get inside their homes, no one giving even the slightest resistance to the demands of his retinue. These _weren’t_ a threat.

Skinny. All of them. Malnourished, most in rags or barely clothed at all. Sickly kids stared at him from sunken eye-sockets over the jagged windows they peeked out of, this place was **diseased**. The few weapons he noted as he scanned across the crowd were rusted or poorly junked together out of scrap. These weren’t even bandits, bandits were more robust than this, these were just people. The forgotten of Pandora, the absolute bottom rung in the pecking order. People, trying to survive on a planet that you either sacrificed your morals to, or your _life_.

Something in his gut twisted in response to that. Something that he’d rather not think about as he strode into the village, his polished smile and immaculately clean outfit emphasising the wealth and power he held in stark contrast to the dust coated poverty he stalked into, he stood out like a _wound_ here, twinkling jewellery and harsh metal spines of his cybernetics glinting in the evening sun. The commanding presence he emanated was amplified by the crusaders who flanked him on either side in their warped skull masks and dark leather armour, monochrome bar the neon splashed COV weapons and chrome spiked accessories they wore as uniform.  
  
 _No one_ kept God King Calypso waiting long, and the old woman stumbling towards him was clearly the town leader, considering the worried glances towards her from the rest of the villagers as they watched in nervous silence.

She stopped a couple of feet before him, not reacting to the weapons raised in unison by his vanguard, a tiny little woman, all pinprick brown eyes and brown craggy skin, who’s wispy white hair fluffs in the breeze like a cloud perched onto her scalp. She wasn’t remotely afraid, he could feel that straight away, but she bowed to him politely, spoke her crude little greeting respectfully through a dry old throat.

“Troy Calypso, welcome, majesty. Not sure why yer _here_ , but what can we do for a God kind enough t’ grace us with his presence?”

He took the bait, sparkling smile spreading wider as his eyes narrowed, gesturing with a grand bow towards her to emphasise his reply:

“Oh, no, no ma'am, what can _we_ do for _you_? That’s why I’m here. To get an answer to this tricky lil’ question at last.” he smarmed, standing to his full height again, golden fangs so clearly peeking out of the now wolf-like grin as his eyes twinkled with mock kindness.

“The COV would _love_ to welcome you into our family. Have wanted you to join for quite a while! I thought a… hah.. _personal touch_ might help, came to have this polite chat with you _myself_ , hope I wasn’t too forward.” he raised his mech fist slowly, counting off the bladed fingers theatrically as he continued.

“Food. **Medicine**. Safety. Guns. Protection, we offer the same benefits to all our followers, and we really do ask for so little in return - just your fealty, and that’s such a _small_ th-”

“No thank you.” she croaked in reply, cutting him off mid sentence.  
  
The crowd behind her gasped in quiet shock at the rudeness, and the insult of her dismissal shot like a sniper round directly into the back of his brain. He reeled for a second, mouth souring out of the fake smile it had been locked into as he took a moment to scrutinise her wizened little face through a disapproving side-eye. The right panel of his maw twitched involuntarily - just quick enough for a flash of razor-sharp teeth to catch the sunlight as it slid back into place. 

He almost mouthed his thoughts, nearly warned her to not _do this_ , not when there were people he had to maintain his reputation in front of, but he swallowed it down instead with an arrogant tilt of his head and flex of his lithe torso. Locked it deep in his belly and hoped _she’d_ realise her mistake.

The old woman was expressionless, but wasn’t meeting his demanding stare. Her eyes were instead trained on the skull tattoo shifting across his chest with each controlled breath, was she aware of the knife-edge she was walking on? Did she _know_ the danger she was really playing with? He closed the distance slowly, a subtle hand gesture commanding his guards to lower their weapons as he came close enough to her to hunch down, dropping his towering frame to bring his face closer to her eye level.

He said nothing for a moment, breathing in the smell of dust and old sweat she gave off in loud, deep huffs through his nose. She was shivering, not as stoic as he’d thought. He could see that now that he was so close to her _throat_.

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he sighed. Troy was tired. He wasn’t in the mood to play this game, even when he could see ten steps ahead, and knew the direction she was making the terrible _mistake_ of heading in. Letting the persona slip away, he lowered his voice, wanting to keep this between _just them_ and out of range of the surrounding nearby crowd.

“Lady, help me out here... I’m confused. I’m fuckin’ _insulted_.” He muttered, jaw a little tighter than he wanted to acknowledge as he continued. “Your town is too small to even tax, we ask nothing from a shanty this size. I _waive tithes_ … ” Troy paused as he turned his mouth closer to her ear, close enough for the heat of his breath to prickle the hair on her neck, and lowered his voice further till it was barely a husky whisper.

“All the COV will ask from you is loyalty. You know I could level this shithole with a nod… right? You get that I could massacre aaalll these people with just a word? Why. **Why** would you deny us? These people, these kids are s-starving. These _kids_ are _sick_. We- _I_ can fix that, like this:”

He snapped his flesh fingers next to her ear, and bristled pleasurably at the wave of perverse satisfaction that rolled through his stomach when she jolted in response, her paper-thin eyelids fluttering.   
  
Did she understand now, he wondered, flicking his piercing gaze to one of the skinny kids holding onto their mother’s leg nearby, and the look on their face as they stared at him, like they were realising the Big Bad Wolf wasn’t _entirely_ make-believe. Did she understand the out he was giving her, the genuine offer of charity hidden behind the God King’s sneer? That he _couldn’t_ provide it unless she bowed and played along?

She shifted a little, her stiff old shoulders popping in complaint as she did, and finally raised those warm little brown eyes to meet his bitingly cold ice blue ones.

“I didn’t mean t’ insult his liege..” she breathed, and he waited for her to continue, waited to hear her out.

“Maybe you just got too big t’ understand. Maybe bein’ so strong can leave you soft in places you don’t know about anymore. Cuz’ starving to death? Bein’ sick?” she shrugged awkwardly, lowering her eyes to his chest again.

“We all die, but at least you’d still die _free_.”

 **That** stab landed. He sucked in a jagged breath and held it, shaking. The moment of silence that followed felt like millennia to the hundred people huddled around them, too far to hear what had been said, but close enough to see his _reaction_ to it, see the jagged black metal spines of his vertebral implant raise and vent crackling red Siren energy in response to the berserk anger their leader’s muttered words had ignited in the King.

His fist tightened by her ear as his markings flared, and the pulse of scarlet light bathed them both in that moment, reflecting cruelly in the piercing eyes that bored into the side of her head as she _refused_ to meet his stare. 

The rage _rolled_ off God King Calypso’s hulking frame in tangible waves... but the old woman did not waver. 

He straightened slowly, maw clicking and twitching in fury as he rose. A stringy line of drool slavered from the split mandible and landed at her feet as his eyes narrowed, and Troy _smiled_ at her, his jaw clipping together into a friendly grin so transparently hostile you could see the fangs snapping into place behind it.  
  
His eyes scanned the crowd rapidly, pausing imperceptibly on each of those scrawny kids that hid their faces from him now, _terrified_ past their curiosity. OK. If _this_ is the way she wanted to play...

Then he’d do _the same_.  
  
”Fine”, he barked, voice clear and loud, making sure every villager would hear what he had to say, that all eyes were locked on him as he continued.  
  
“No problem ma’am. I’m not a man to _push_ my kindness on others. Good luck with your..." he paused to crack a false laugh, shifting his eyes to the nearest family - “Your uh.. “dying free”.”  
  
He winked at them, and then his entire demeanour shifted purposefully, making a scene of dropping the playful act and warping into grim disgust as his gaze snapped back to her, still refusing to meet his eyes. He began to turn, and gestured for his retinue to follow, their boots crunching through the dirt as they stormed to his side.   
  
He made one final pause as the reached their vehicles and looked back, lifting his monstrous cybernetic arm to wave playfully at the gathered people, watching with satisfaction as a few cringed when the bladed fingers caught the dying sunlight.   
  
“By the way!” he bellowed, commanding their absolute attention again as his mouth split into a wolfish grin.  
  
“If you need any help with components for building all those little _kid-sized coffin_ s, give us a call, yeah? We’ll cut you a _good_ deal.”  
  
The looks they shared were a reassurance at least. Maybe _someone_ would listen after all.

* * *

"Fucking MOVE” he hissed at his driver as a crusader closed the car’s door after him, and they gassed it at his command, the hulking technical’s tires spinning a cloud of debris towards the town's inhabitants as they covered their eyes and coughed.   
  
He couldn’t get out of this shit-hole fast enough. Couldn’t get far enough from those *children* and the way they’d looked at him, he flicked his eyes to the rear view mirror and felt a cold chill through his burning chest as they faded into the dust behind the convoy. That stupid woman. That stubborn old bitch. She’d let them die rather than bend a fucking knee. He was _disgusted,_ and not fully sure _who with._  
  
Slamming his boot into the back of the partition in front of him and feeling the car swerve as the driver jolted, he screamed “Drop the DAMN DIVIDER, YOU MORON!!” - panting in anger as they fumbled in panic to hit the switch and activate the internal armor at his demand. He’d barely managed to keep the storm of emotion brewing inside him contained when they finally found it, and felt a wave of relief when the reinforced metal screen closed between them, giving him privacy at last. 

  
Troy hunched forward in his seat and pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes closed and desperately trying not to **sob**.  
  
What the fuck had just happened back there? He wanted to cry, his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest and he couldn’t seem to get enough air, lungs heaving as he shuddered in gasps while trying to swallow down the panic. What had _happened_?  
  
In 6 years of recruiting, 6 years since the COV had reached a level of power where they were no longer told _no_ , he’d never encountered _anything_ like that situation. He wasn’t prepared for it, he’d never had to deal with this mix of completely opposing emotions before. Standing there looking at sick kids he knew could help so easily, but knowing that under the scrutiny of his vanguard and the terrified eyes of the villagers, he couldn’t _break character_ to do it. He ran his flesh fist into his hair and gripped hard into the dark mess, pulling sharply at his scalp as he crumbled further forward, head nearly between his knees as he trembled.  
  
Trying to give that bitch an _out_ , trying to be clear in his cunning, emphasising what he was offering, and being denied the only route he _had_ to help them by a weak old woman too proud and stubborn to give the _nothing_ he asked for in return. **Nothing**! Some COV propaganda plastered about the town would have been more than enough, it didn’t make sense. He couldn’t understand. No one said no. No one _denied them._  
  
He hissed as the first tear spilled down his cheek, then threw himself back into the seat and * _screamed_ *, bludgeoning the massive mech arm into the steel divider. Not caring if the driver heard him choking out tears. Not caring if they told the others, not caring about anything anymore bar those _kids_ , and how sick _he’d been_ , and how powerless he was now even when he paraded himself as a God, how much of a lie it was. He had no _control._ He had to act the part, always, even when it was something he hated, when it wasn’t what _he wanted._  
  
Troy snarled as the hot wet slick under the bracer and the telltale burn along his delicate scarred shoulder became noticeable, but didn’t stop, hammering the metal over, and over, as the agonising jolts buckled the arm's outer plating more with each blow. His voice was starting to crack between sobs, wheezing on the intake as his weak lungs began to fail, but he had to spew this bile out now, knowing he couldn’t risk trying to carry this level of emotional turmoil into the Holy City while hoping the mask didn’t slip in front of Saints, or his _sister_. He was a fake. No God would be sobbing like this, having a tantrum alone in the back of a damn car. 

_Nothing_ about him was **_fucking real._**  
  
That woman had seen it, she’d looked right through him like he was glass. Straight past the bluster and fangs, to the stammering, sick, _broken,_ weak man he’d thought he’d hidden, and known she could say no. Known straight away that she was stronger than him. He’d thought.. he’d hidden that person.. so well. Coughing a final sob as his ruined arm shuddered on damaged pistons and dropped to his side, he lifted his left to cover his face, slumping back in his seat, silent now bar for the pained hiccups that followed.  
  
 _God_.   
  
He didn’t know what to do...  
  
Part of him wanted to say screw it, order an airdrop of supplies off the books. Food, medicine, some _guns._ Anything to give them a chance out there. He was in charge of finance, no one would need to know, maybe he could manage it and keep his reputation intact... But the **other** part of him wanted to send the command to have the fucking shit-hole _razed to the ground._  
  
How’s your freedom taste now, while slag melts the flesh off your bones you _stupid old bitch_.  
  
Troy coughed quietly, sinking lower into the seat as he rested his sore neck against the curve of the headrest, trying to steady his breathing as he forced himself to calm. There was no longer any sound outside, no shouting or broadcasts, just the dull roar of the convoy’s engines, like white noise in the back of your mind. The same craggy Pandoran landscape raced past as before, but pitch dark now, the only light being what streamed from the vanguard vehicle’s headlamps.   
  
Suddenly, the technical bounced over a bump in the dirt track and he winced as he jolted forward, then nervously lifted the front of his coat as he felt a trickle down his right side, sighing in embarrassed defeat as he saw the blood seeping from under the bracer seam resting against his lower ribs. _Perfect_ , he thought, banging his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes. 

Wonderful, he’d really made the right choice with that breakdown, huh. The arm was junked, his shoulder was torn to pieces, and he’d probably lost his voice. Tyreen was going to eat him alive, if she even _noticed_ , he reminded himself with a humorless snort, too tired to even manage a sneer.  
  
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his Echo, sniffing as he bent his head to rub his eyes on his forearm, too blurry with tears and mascara to see the display clearly. He didn’t know what to do. But she would, wouldn’t she. He slowly thumbed through the years of unanswered messages, all read, over and over on nights when things were bad, but none responded to. All from her. Checking in if he was ok, repeating it hadn’t been all his fault, letting him know she was still right there if he ever needed her.   
  
She’d know. He could ask. He could ping her right now, and she’d know what to say straight away. She’d point him in the _right_ direction, dig the worry out of his chest and slap the back of his head with a few blunt words of choice like she always managed. Seifa would know..   
  
He didn’t realise how hard he was gripping the E-Dev till a straggling tear dropped to his bone-white thumb knuckle, and he blanched, snapping out of his lost thoughts as he shook his head. With one last glance at her messages, he tapped the display button and dropped the Echo to his lap, then lifted his shaky hand to wipe at his eyes, feeling the oily shift of streaked eyeliner under his fingers.   
  
He needed a fucking shower.   
  
He was so _tired_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	56. Green eyed monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## 

* * *

##  **Tyreen**

**Friendships** :

  * Ty’s actual friendships are very, very few and far between. She made friends relatively easily in the early COV years, but between her shift into embodying the God Queen role and her rapidly declining opinion of and care towards other people as **The Leech** grows stronger daily, she hasn’t had a real friendship in a _very_ long time.
  * She’s surrounded by sycophants and opportunists who fawn over her every word, she’s not in a position to feel jealousy because there just isn’t anyone she values enough to feel jealous over. She doesn’t.. care. Someone stops giving her the level of praise and attention she wants? They stop getting attention from _her_ , and guess who ends up the one really losing out when the God Queen grows bored of you? 



**Relationships** :

  * The only genuine relationship Tyreen has is with Troy, and her jealousy towards anything that pulls his attention from her is **vicious**. He is _all she has_. He’s the only person in the Galaxy that knows her, or can touch her. He’s the only person alive who can give her a nasty dose of reality about her failings and live afterwards.
  * She both _loves and hates_ him in equal amounts, and for him to start paying attention to someone else? For him to start spending time with someone else that means he isn’t around when _she_ wants him, or who he cares for and is beginning to value more than _his twin?_ **Hatred**.
  * She won’t kill them, that would be stupid. That would do the opposite of send Troy straight back to _her_ , so she will turn him against them instead. It’s simple. He listens to her… and he’s so delicate, so easy to make think he’s being mocked or secretly disliked. 
  * They aren’t good for him really, she is, she just needs to help **him** understand that.



* * *

##  **Troy**

**Friendships** :

  * Troy is in a near constant state of anxiety that he is going to fuck over any blossoming friendships he finds himself in. He knows damn well he’s destroyed every single possible close relationship with someone he’s managed to have in the past, either through intense social ineptitude, or becoming dangerously needy and desperate to please them at all times in a futile attempt to _make them like him enough to stay_.


  * The slightest hint of a “friend” paying more attention to someone else or having their interest be drawn to another person, and he either snaps into pathetic attempts to distract them back towards himself and reassure him that they _do_ like him and enjoy his company, or he’ll have a _meltdown_.
  * There are only these 2 sides to the real Troy once someone is close enough to him to see them in person. 
  * A coward begging for attention and love from someone who’s opinion of him he’s placed all his self value in, or a nightmarish, screaming, explosive sociopath, lashing out in rages directed at both the person who he blames for taking his friend away, _and_ the person he is fighting to keep _as_ his **friend**.
  * It’s the same pattern, over and over, and he knows it’s why he’s so alone now. It doesn’t matter that his physical aggression is always aimed at inanimate objects when this happens, he’s fully aware that doesn’t make it fine… he just doesn’t know how to _stop_. 



**Relationships** :

  * He’s never had a romantic relationship. He’s completely incapable of understanding what they _are_. He has people he fucks, and people he wants to be around and be cared for by. In his brain, those are two completely separate groups. 
  * One means nothing, the other is something he craves desperately at all times.
  * In reality, if he eventually found an actual relationship? If he was ever in a bond with another person in that way, and he felt the spark of jealousy? He’d go on a self destructive _rampage_ if his partner didn’t help him understand there wasn’t a threat first. 



* * *

##  **Seifa**

**Friendships** :

  * Doesn’t really feel jealousy in friendships. Anyone she’d call a _friend_ is someone genuinely close to her, they have a bond there, it doesn’t matter if they don’t talk for a while or that person is spending more time with other people than her, she’s pretty self assured in their relationship and wouldn’t feel that pang of jealousy.
  * However, that does mean that she doesn’t really find it easy to understand _other people_ can feel that way, and can get irritable and frustrated with people who **do** get protective and needy when it comes to friendships towards her. 



**Relationships** :

  * Long term monogamous relationships are pretty hard to come across when you live a relatively nomadic life, but the few she’s been in are ones she has taken deeply seriously, and she expects the level of loyalty from her partner that she gives. 
  * Treating another person as having as much importance in their life as she’s treated as having would cause a major issue. _Major_.
  * She _trusts_ them, she wouldn’t feel jealousy over them having friends, or colleagues or spending time with others, but she can’t deal with clear favor being given to someone else over her very well, or _others_ showing clear intentions towards them. She deals with feeling jealous relatively childishly.
  * Sulks. Gets sarcastic, gets nasty. She _knows_ being an adult and discussing it would be the far better option, but she’s just really not well kitted out to deal with this kind of feeling, and generally ends up making the situation _worse_.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	57. Oof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** Troy **

Horse duvrys.

Fucking _horse duvrys_.

  * Typhon’s vocabulary had been relatively simple to put it lightly, and half of the words the twins have learned in their lives either came from Leda, or reading. They had practically no live echo access during their childhood and a limited library of recorded movies and shows to watch. Bit of a recipe for disaster for people who suddenly rocket into stardom.
  * 3 years, THREE goddamn years he’d spent schmoozing with billionaire assholes at the bullshit galas they got invited to, at shows, unveilings, sponsorship drives.. Three goddamn years of saying _horse duvrys_.
  * Till the day his Saints and Oracle had been escorting him at one of the twin’s events in the Holy City and had been in hearing distance. Sei had dragged him by the $750,000 suit lapel into a side room, eyes brimming with tears of held back laughter, and asked him **what the hell he’d just said**. 
  * Had he just announced there were “horse duvrys” being served?
  * “It’s _or-dervs_. It’s OR-DERVS! Troy! Oh my god!“



_Horse duvrys_ … He can’t even look at them anymore.

* * *

##  ** Tyreen **

  * Ty had this little plant she’d seen at a travelling market before they hit it big and would still scurry around Pandora’s trader docks for supplies, gorgeous thing. A succulent of some sort, meant to be really hardy and easy to look after. 
  * Big bulbous tasty looking leaves, that kind of healthy green you _never_ saw on Pandora, fading to a rosy red at the tips.
  * She doesn’t… do _well_ with plants. They react the same as any other living thing to **The Leech** but, well, she really _liked_ this. Really loved the idea that a delicate little living thing like this that might possibly tolerate being near her, so she bought it and carefully brought it back to their studio being sure to not actually _touch_ any part of it.


  * And it turned out she had a knack with succulents actually! 
  * Henry did great ( She named it immediately ). He was kept in the sun, she watered him every second day, and god, she made _sure_ Troy knew she was better at this than he was. 
  * Everything he tried to keep for himself he overwatered and killed, or didn’t feed properly, but SHE was doing great, look at Henry! Haha. She’s a natural.
  * Henry turned out to be plastic upon closer inspection by her very smug twin months later, and Tyreen was _disgusted_. Threw it into the garbage in a tantrum as Troy laughed hysterically at her reaction.
  * ~~She fished him out later. He might be plastic but he’s still hers, and you might spot him in the mess of her ship’s quarters if you look hard enough~~



* * *

##  ** Seifa **

  * Went through a Goth phase in her late teens that she really shouldn’t have. Doesn’t like to talk about it. Doesn’t have any visual evidence it ever happened, and is haunted by the knowledge other people _do_.
  * It wasn’t her fault! Everyone was doing it, and she just.. Look, she wasn’t as good with makeup at 18 as she is now, ok? Everyone has to start somewhere. It’s just that she started… she made a bad decision about what she tried to start with. She’s not perfect. We all make mistakes.
  * Forgets this ever happened till she’ll see a sudden reminder in a movie about awkward teens or someone will bring up a topic that gives her flashbacks of chains and leather and _very poorly done monochrome aesthetics_ , and she lives in a constant state of dread that an old pal is going to put one of those pics of them in their gangly, awkward glory up on the echonet and expose her.
  * Theres a reason she keeps a liiiiiitle bit of blackmail material on hand for all her friends. I mean, that’s just good business. :)



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	58. How do you really feel?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

* * *

##  **Tyreen** :

 **Troy** : 

Likes - **His kindness**. It goes beyond the snare he’s trapped in, she knows that and is thankful for it. He’s not empathetic to her, caring towards her, and kind to her because he _has to be_ or because he’s stuck with her. He’s like that because it’s who he really is, and he loves her dearly. It means a lot to someone so surrounded by paper thin _affection_.

Dislikes - **He’s a downer**. He questions _everything_ , worries constantly. Her ideas always have to be picked apart, her plans second-guessed. He rolls things in his mind over and over till he warps them into being lost causes, into trying to convince her to give up before she starts. He’s _wrong_.

 **Seifa** : 

Likes - **Her ability to form relationships**. Ty was never able to grasp exactly what she was doing wrong that came so effortlessly to the other woman. Seifa is magnetic in a way that doesn’t need manipulation or threats. The friendships and relationships she forms are long lasting and solid. They are _genuine_ , while Tyreen can only seem to surround herself with sycophants and people who’d either die for her without knowing _who_ she actually is as a person, or abandon her the second they were in danger. She trusted Seifa within days of meeting her, completely. It’s a trait she wishes she could emulate.

Dislikes - **Too vocal with her opinions**. Thinks her feedback for Ty is _far_ more important than Tyreen does, that it holds far more sway than it has in reality. Ty would love to see her finally have a reckoning about _who’s_ in power now, which of them is the one who should be offering advice to the other. Who’s the one who turned out _more successful_. It’s long due. Why a junker would think a Goddess should give a shit about her opinion is a mystery.

* * *

##  **Troy** :

**Tyreen :**

Likes - **Her emotional intelligence**. It’s not something Ty herself is super aware of, but that woman can see through metal and meat and straight to the core of your bones. In hindsight, that’s probably a big factor in how well she can manipulate others, but it also means she’s just.. so good at helping you feel better. She always knows what to say to him when he’s suffering, and her moments of genuine kindness towards other people who are surprised at _how well she knows them_ are things he’d love to see more of from her. They make her so happy, even if she doesn’t notice.

Dislikes - **Self absorption**. He knows it’s not her fault, it’s The Leech. He knows it’s not really Tyreen. He can _remember_ Tyreen, and he still sees moments of her every day in a smile, or a kind gesture, or a real laugh. He also sees her grin viciously as people tear themselves apart in front of her for a moment of her attention. He watches her cut the provisions budget and pump funds into marketing when he _knows they can afford_ to increase food supplies to the outskirts of the city slums. He just wishes… nothing. Doesn’t matter.

** Seifa **

Likes - **Her confidence in herself**. Sei is so relaxed in both the person she shows to others, _and_ her unprotected self around friends. He’s found her an intensely comforting presence to be around since they met because of it. Her solid sense of self is the complete opposite to his own fragile internal worth, and being around someone like that grounds him. He looks up to her, and she _likes_ Troy, is relaxed around him and happy… so what does that make him then? Maybe not _so_ pathetic as he often feels he is.

Dislikes - **Her elitism**. It’s hard to miss how easily Seifa will shrug off someone else’s ideas or feedback based on her simply feeling that she’s _better_ than them in some way on the topic. He’s had multiple vicious arguments with her based on her ignoring a direct order from him, as if she forgets who her employer is and still sees him as some stupid child _she can veto_. She knows it’s a problem, it has caused her issues in the past, she’s been put in severe danger from it before, and he knows she’s trying to get better. The apology after helps and it’s not enough to cause problems between them when they are so close, but it still twists his guts every time he see’s her act like a haughty little bitch to someone he knows is actually her better on the subject.

* * *

##  ** Seifa **

**Tyreen :**

Likes - **Her wonderful creativity**. Tyreen is a performer, natural born. She is so clever, so artistic, SO wonderfully interesting and exciting to be around as a person. Listening to her get into the depths of explaining what happened in the last episode of whatever shit romcom she’s been watching, acting out the scenes, jumping between the characters and launching into over the top emotional spiels? It’s brilliant, it has her and Troy _crying_ laughing usually. She’s artistic, she’s fun, she’s a non stop font of ideas and suggestions, or, she used to be at least. They don’t really talk.. this openly anymore.

Dislikes - **Her complete lack of empathy towards who she manipulates**. Sei herself is not exactly the most caring person for the run of the mill Pandoran scum but even _she_ gets winces of distaste seeing how Tyreen treats her “followers”. How she treats her Saints is worse, like disposable playthings fighting against stakes so high their lives are literally on the line. And Troy? Troy’s the real victim in this. Sei doesn’t believe for a moment that Tyreen is unaware of the damage she’s been doing to him for years now, she _must_ know. She must see how she’s cutting deeper every time. Twisting the knife into his bowels a little sharper each time she grinds him underfoot to get what she wants. She just doesn’t _care_ , and that’s a problem, because **_Sei does._**

**Troy: **

Likes - **DeLeon**. Every little slip of his persona, every minute alone with that man as he excitedly shows you the shitty little gadget he spent hours making, or stutters as he offers food he remembered you saying you liked and he tried to cook, or listens eagerly to you retell a stupid thing that happened last week while his goofy wide smile and twinkling eyes betray his happiness - is a window into who he _should have_ been. It’s a constant reminder that he’s still there, under this awful filth he layers over himself, and that he can shake it off one day if he has the support he needs to help reassemble the pieces of Troy back into what they were meant to be.

Dislikes - **His cowardice**. Troy only has three people in his life he can blame for his real deepset personal failures and issues, and they are himself, Tyreen, and Seifa. He _never_ blames Tyreen. He will sit in shaking fury, tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks, _defending_ her as Sei tries to explain how he’s being controlled. He has hurt people before, lashed out physically in explosive rage at people who so much as dared imply his sister _may_ not have his best interests at heart. He is a coward who will blame himself, and as time goes on, _Seifa_ , for his problems, and she cannot stand that weakness. It’s disgusting, and having him attack her verbally, smash a cybernetic fist capable of crushing her into the wall next to her head as he _screams that she’s at fault_? Weak. Pathetic. ~~Enough to make her want to walk away.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	59. Yellow Bellies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

* * *

##  **Troy :**

_Zombies_ :

  * Undead, things coming back to life that should be gone. It freaks him out on a subconscious level he would never be able to explain, and he’ll _never_ admit there’s a real fear there, just insist he doesn’t like zombie movies, or necromancy horror tropes are _dumb_ , or whatever other lie he needs to tell himself to not feel stupid. The dead should stay dead. The dead are gone. There is **nothing** to _bring back_ , ok?



_Men bigger than him_ :

  * Specifically height-wise; it makes him wildly uncomfortable. Women are fine, women are safe. Men are.. he doesn’t _trust_ men easily, but feeling like he’s the dominant one in the situation has always helped. He may not be more muscular than them but he’s taller, and that makes him as much of a man as they are. _More_ of a man than they are, in his corrupted thought process. If he no longer has that advantage, he doesn’t feel so secure in his confidence and he just doesn’t like it. He _doesn’t_ like it.



_Jump scares_ :

  * Holy shit what the fuck are you doing do NOT do that you idiot. You fool. His reaction to someone rounding a corner and shouting at him unexpectedly or startling him is _exactly the same_ as it was on Nekrotafeyo when the thing causing him to jump out of his skin would be a predator, he _immediately_ defends himself.
  * Having your nose broken half a second after surprising him for fun isn’t that enjoyable, and God King Calypso hunching over you awkwardly asking if you are ok and stuttering that he’s “So sorry I didn’t m-mean to..” is very bad for his public image. Just don’t.



* * *

##  **Tyreen :**

_Claustrophobia_ :

  * Ty really cannot stand feeling enclosed, likely rooted from how trapped she felt for such a long period in her childhood. Her personal Sanctum ship has far more windows and clear screen-walls than Troy’s does, anything that helps her not feel caged in makes a huge difference. The ship they had travelled to Pandora on was _tiny_ , barely big enough for two people let alone when one was massive. She’d been unable to walk more than a few feet with so little space and the _panic_ she’d had to deal with for weeks on that ship as her brother tried to reassure and calm her constantly had been agony. She’ll never forget that hull seal hissing open as their ramp descended when they finally landed, and how it felt to _run into that cool Pandoran night air_ for the first time.



_People she can’t read_

  * Tyreen does **not** like being around people who can mask their emotions very well. Troy knows, and the steely wall he places around his reactions once she pushes him past tolerable levels of frustration is something he purposely does to put her massively on edge. If she can’t read you, she can’t know what to do next, how to control the situation. If you’re a blank slate, are you even really there? Are you seeing her at all? Do you _care_ who she is? Ty leaves her twin to deal with people who are that in control in her stead. He understands them. She can’t.



* * *

##  **Seifa :**

_Helplessness_

  * Sei is small, weak, gets hurt easily, and absolutely **refuses** to accept any of it as fact. She _never_ needs help, she _never_ can’t look after herself, even if doing so is causing her harm. The idea of not being self sufficient terrifies her, because it’s been a death sentence for the life she’s lived. The prospect of being ill or injured is a looming threat that constantly nips at the back of your neck when you survive as a roaming merchant, and it’s a sentiment many of her peers share. When she _does_ get sick, she will either work through it and vehemently deny anything is wrong when there clearly is, or end up making things so much worse that she eventually needs medical assistance. She never learns.



_Gore_ :

  * Yeaaaah, she’s probably in the wrong business right now and is pretty aware of that. For all her faux confidence around weapons, she **really** has trouble seeing blood or viscera. She’d not manage to attend a Lets Flay or arena without spending the entire time trying to look anywhere bar what was happening in front of her, which is a tenuous position for a Saint to be in as public appearances at these kinds of events are pretty much expected. Injuries on herself or friends? Doable. Actual gore and bloody violence? She turns green and needs to distance herself, _quickly_.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	60. Typhon (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

Typhon has only ever meant well.

The white lies, the _sprinklings_ of exaggeration in his stories? Well, that just made people laugh, made ‘em happy. The bravado and bad jokes? Leda liked those, made her smile, and if Leda was happy then what else mattered?

Nothing.

Till she was **killed**.

Everything that built up to that night had been soul crushing, days of tears and rage as they screamed at each other and the undeniable end that approached.

Troy was dying.

8 years they’d managed to play pretend - a makeshift little family unit on a forgotten star - that everything would _be ok,_ when they **all** knew there was no way the boy would reach adulthood. Even Tyreen, too young to even really comprehend death, knew deep in her core some way.

They’d gotten 8 years, but they wouldn’t get another. Typhon sat on that rickety little bed he’d carved from Nekro-wood when the twins were born, sat for what felt like days now next to his exhausted wife, and _waited_. Waiting was all there was left to do, but they shouldn’t have expected an 8 year old to understand that.

They shouldn’t have ignored Tyreen’s outbursts, clearly confused and lashing out for attention while the back of her mind screamed how **wrong** her twin looked in his frail little body, eyes closed and chest barely moving. He knows now they shouldn’t have done that, how much it hurt her and why it lead to what it did.

But Typhon has only ever meant well.

When he passed out to Troy’s screaming and the crack of Leda’s stone skin as Ty wrenched her crushed fist from it’s grip, there was no expectation of anything bar horror. His last slipping thought as he blacked out was the grim humour that tomorrow he’d be burying his son **and** his wife.

Waking up to a flushed, confused Troy asking where Leda was as he carefully sat up in bed while his twin curled around him, was like a crack to the skull.

He was alive. He was awake. It was a _miracle_. It _had_ to be a miracle, what else could it have been? Whatever had.. had happened to Leda.. she must have done something, must be watching down on them from the heavens and healed their boy, that was it. That had to be it, and Typhon had sobbed with his twins, crushing their little bodies to his chest and promising he’d make sure they _stayed_ safe, he _promised Leda_ that day.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but Tyreen would choke him to death with her bare hands if she didn’t know Troy would turn on her like a _switchblade_.

He’d tried _so hard_ to do what he’d promised, to keep them safe, but he’d never actually listened to Tyreen despite coddling her to a suffocating level. She’d tried to explain so many times, tried to tell him about the “bad feeling” in her stomach as **The Leech** wracked hunger pains through her tiny system that were too inhuman for her to be able to describe in terms he could comprehend.

She’d told him she wanted to leave, that there were people out there who needed her and Troy’s help, that there were so many lost souls she could reach out to and give belonging, but he’d just laugh and shake his head. Tell her that would be a terrible idea, that “ _the people out dere_ ” would skin them both alive and sell their bodies to “ _da corporations_ ” before they’d manage to say hello, and she’d _hated him_. The Leech squirmed in rage within her ribcage as it’s lure to Pandora was denied over and over while years passed, and Tyreen was forced to remain on Nekrotafeyo for _far longer_ than she could bear.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but the looks he gave his daughter, the fear in his eyes and nervousness in his words only added to the dread she’d begun to understand as she got older. The realisation that her father thought she was a monster, and _it might be true._  
  
He’d kept her trapped on a planet with nothing she hungered for, and the great maw swallowed pieces of Tyreen instead _._

Troy was just **forgotten**.

Typhon hadn’t meant it, he’d not purposefully relegated his son to a provider that kept their larder stocked and bots functional, but it had happened anyway.

Tyreen was the one who needed attention, Tyreen was the one he needed to watch and keep close, she was the troublemaker. Troy was just.. Troy was just _there_ , a lanky shape in the side of vision that was hyperfocused on his flighty twin, and it happened so slowly neither of them really noticed.

Troy was quiet, Troy was easy to manage, Troy didn’t complain or pout or have tantrums, he’d just do as you asked. Troy would scurry up rock-faces till twilight set and he couldn’t see clearly anymore, then limp back to camp with scraped knees and bloody knuckles and _beam_ at being thanked for bringing back some Manta eggs

Troy would disappear for 10 hours and arrive home with a sack of glow pods, even though there were none for miles around, all just to see the smile light across his sister’s face as she leeched the plants and hummed their deliciousness.

Typhon has only ever meant well, but Troy was so easy to raise that his father stopped even _seeing_ him.

It took about a year on Pandora for the rose tinted lenses to begin to clear for Troy about how things had been at home.

He was at Tyreens neck about it at any opportunity till then, jumped at any chance to remind her _she made him come here and lied_ , to rub it in and make sure she was perfectly aware how much he wanted to leave, but it died down as he began to really see the truth of things.

Tyreen didn’t change, she'd always wanted off Nekro from the moment **The Leech** sowed its seeds of influence through whispers in the back of her mind after what happened to Leda. She _hated_ Typhon, but Troy didn’t, and still doesn’t years later despite having a far more realistic view of how poor a father he’d been to them. Can’t bring himself to want to cut him off completely when he _knows_ how easy it is to make mistakes that hurt other people…

Typhon has only ever meant well, but the twins had been starving on that planet.

Tyreen in spirit, no life source more complex than animals to feed from meant **The Leech** constantly gnawed at the back of her mind demanding she _leave_ , but Troy physically.

It hadn’t been so bad before, when he was younger. He and Typhon could easily hunt more than enough food together even if Troy mostly ended up carrying small loads and helping his dad as a kid, but by the time Typhon’s loss and fear had left him too concerned about Tyreen to let her accompany Troy and too _paranoid_ to leave camp _with_ him, things were bad.

They were _very bad_.

The twins are two sides of the same ravenous hunger. Tyreen’s ate her soul, but Troy’s decimated his body.

He’d take Grouse on long trips, the bots ability to carry a life saver even if he was too loud to actually _help_ with the hunt itself, but there was just never enough food.

The animals on Nekrotafeyo were more energy than flesh, there wasn’t much _on_ them in the first place, and coupling that with vegetation humans absolutely hadn’t evolved to eat, survival became a harder struggle every year that passed and bigger he grew.

Typhon was half his size and seemed to never pick up how much Troy was flagging, but that’s just how things were.

That was life, that’s how it is. Right?

Troy had believed that was the case till Pandora, and him actually getting to _see_ how other people lived.

He’d been so **proud** of the few kilos he put on in those 6 months on Seifa’s ship.

She’d been insistent on eating way more often than he was used to and oddly proud in a way he didn’t understand when he’d finish a meal, but when the first medic he’d let near him at Sol’s insurance insistence when they’d entered their business partnership told him he was _dangerously underweight_ , it had been a slap to the face.

He wasn’t, he’d put **_on weight_.** He was bigger than he’d ever been, you could pinch his skin now, so what were they fucking talking about?

Ranting at Ty afterwards had left a shitty taste in his mouth. She’d looked almost _sad_ as she’d listened, told him he needed to actually trust her for once, that she _wasn’t_ wrong about dad. That dad had been a fucking _monster_.

He couldn’t agree, wouldn’t. Stormed back to his room in their tiny studio space and brooded for hours - gnawing at his nails as Pandora’s night air turned frigid.

No one looked like he had when he came here. Dad had never said anything about him being thin. He was normal. He was _normal,_ wasn’t he? He’d had no one to compare to, but…

_No one here looked like he had._

He’d not seen anyone that thin, skeletal structure that visible. Hadn’t seen anyone yet who was _normal_ and had cheekbone ridges you could see a jaw hinge through as it moved.

That hadn’t been normal, had it. He didn’t know and dad hadn’t said anything, acted like nothing was wrong for _years_.

He’d been starving, hadn’t he, and Typhon had slapped him on the back and thanked him for dinner every night instead of even _hinting_ at worry. He’d been starving and the only person who could have helped him understand how sick he was had cared more about keeping his children by his side, than if one dropped dead.

So he stops bringing up wanting to go home. He stops defending Typhon if Tyreen needs to rage against her past in a monologue at night to help her shrug off the anger and get some rest.

He’s weird about food.

He won’t stand for waste when the Slums are hungry.

Neither can forgive their father for the childhood he caused.

Typhon has only ever meant well, **but his children won’t speak of him _at all_.**

* * *

* * *

In my AU he genuinely felt he was doing right by Leda by keeping the twins safe, he honestly believed he was doing as good a job as possible at being a father considering what he had to work with, but if he’d made even the _slightest effort_ to really look at how his children were developing, he would have seen clear proof otherwise. 

It was willful ignorance. His “good intentions” mean fuck all in the face of the _abuse_ they suffered. 

Leech Lord Tyreen was in agony for years on Nekrotafeyo, her half of **The Leech** was the frantic hunger of it, the desperate need to consume, but Typhon refusing to let her leave meant every time **The Leech** tried to lure its host to Pandora - _something all the great_ _Siren powers do in one manner or another_ \- it failed. 

It had nothing else to lash its maddened suffering out at bar Tyreen, and she was _just a kid_. She couldn’t explain to anyone what it felt like, she couldn’t even understand herself what the gnawing emptiness eating through her bones actually was.

Troy couldn’t comprehend it, yet alone Typhon. Troy’s half is malignant, a quiet, covetous need at the back of his mind that feeds on his own body when there is no other energy, but isn’t aggressive the way Tyreen’s is. 

It would be like preventing a migratory animal from following its intense instinct to leave, and **watching** it suffer - biting against its cage wire and pacing back and forth till its teeth cracked and hooves bled. 

That’s on Typhon, it’s all on him.

~~He kept them safe while watching them _starve_.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	61. Mindscape (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

****

### Leech Lord AU Troy’s mindscape inspired by DLC4:

Spread out Islands of light in a sea of encompassing, _choking_ darkness.

The paths that connect them are well worn, crumbling underfoot even though they are stable. Each oasis of colour in the thick black feels like a moment in time, or a shrine, or a tomb. Not frightening, just lonely and unchanging. The air smells like hot dust and you’re not quite sure if it’s actually entering your lungs when you breathe in. Everything’s just.. stagnant.  
  
The islands look small at first, like you could pass their breadth in a handful of minutes, cross their landmass and reach the edge of hollow nothingness on the other side… but they aren’t. They are infinite. Step into one and you can walk forever, lose yourself in treasured memories he’s kept alive since childhood and spends hours lost in as an adult, but take a single step back and you’ll be at that corrupt shore again - feeling the dark rot of the blackness that surrounds them lick at your heels like it’s _tasting_ you.

One is Nekrotafeyo, glow pods lazily swaying in the fragrant breeze that brushes under the heavy foliage of ancient trees. There are faces in the bark if you look close enough, love in the branches. Laughter, the crackling of campfires. A mother’s lullaby hums from luminous rocks as you brush fingertips across them.

This place is hallowed. He comes here often, you can feel it. Breathe his footsteps in the loam, scent his touch on the deep green waxy vines that snake up the crumbling Eridian ruins. Time doesn’t move here. Pain does not burn. It’s cool and alive.

Tiny handprints press against your clothes as you walk, children’s. They want to play but don’t know how to ask you to join them. They are very lonely but you can’t stay, and you smile sadly as you whisper goodbye to the empty air around you.

Another is Pandora, the dunes at night. 

Brotherhood and fire, the crunch of flesh and reassurance of blood. Masks sneer at you from the stone crag the camp faces, men and women, bandits and monsters. Some laugh, some cry. You _recognise_ some even if they aren’t really faces. You aren’t sure you know what a face _is_. Maybe because Troy doesn’t. Maybe it’s _all_ masks in the end.

Sweat and raging fists pound as they splatter the sand and the sound of combat fills the air around you, hulking shapes wrestle and rain blows against each other in the shadow of the firelight flickering against the warm craggy rock, but you can’t **see** the combatants.

There are two silhouettes, one man tearing another apart. The protector is smaller, but the aggressor is panicked. They are healthy and it is sick. They are whole and it is broken. It is frightened and lashing out, but they are _brave_. It tears and bites but they don’t wound it back. They are better than it. You can watch for days and it will never end, its assault on its guardian never stops. They won’t let it crumble, and **it refuses to die.**

You travel between the islands, and instinct warns you not to stray from the paths. The darkness is _hungry,_ and you speed up, a primal fear nipping in the back of your brain that reminds you _walking is too slow_ , so you run instead. The hairs along your nape prickle with a reminder that something is very close behind you.

The islands shift as you move, one shivers out of existence and another takes its place so you can’t be sure where your feet are leading you even if you’d known a moment ago.  
  
A door opens to Ven and Eli’s apartment, it smells like a hospital but feels like belonging. Some shitty old meme collection is playing on their tv, and faceless statues made of glass and bone nod and welcome you to their home.

You’d like to embrace them, but either might shatter. Easier to chat with them. They have _so many stories_.  
  
Their walls are covered with photos of each other and who you assume are their friends, but you notice Troy isn’t in any.

Seifa sits alone at the workbench in her ship, you’d like to talk to her but her _back always faces you_. You move, but she doesn’t, and you don’t understand how to see her face anymore if she won’t turn around. She’s bleeding a little, a cut on her forearm, and you feel a pang of worry. You’d like to help her, but no matter how many steps you take towards her she never seems to be close enough to touch. 

There are shapes in the kitchen and crew quarters. Shadows with blue and red markings flickering along their limbs, but you can’t make out their dark forms unless you look away and catch them in that part of your vision you can never quite tell is real or not.

They are watching, you aren’t sure if they like you. You aren’t sure if they like _each other_ … but you know not to touch things that aren’t yours. This is her home. Be _respectful_.

You move on, walking past memories and into others. There are thousands, you know you may never visit the same one twice, and you wonder if he has. If there might be islands in here that haven’t been touched in decades, secrets festering in their vaults.

The longer you stay the clearer the laughter becomes, and you realise it’s been there _the whole time, g_ rowing at the edge of your consciousness. It’s mocking, grotesque. Hissing between teeth from crackling lungs that gurgle and pop. Slithering like tentacles between your ribs.

The shadows only darken as you travel, the road between islands feels longer, the light dimmer, and you _begin to feel the little bites_.

Prickles along your legs, tugs at your clothing, you are being pulled off the path and you **know** that it’s wrong, that something _else_ is in the shadows, but the laughter grows louder and the light fades as you stumble - thick ichor swallowing your legs as you flounder against it, sucking you lower as you begin to sink.

There is no light anymore, you shouldn’t have strayed. You shouldn’t have looked to the darkness.

This world shakes in agony as the God-King rises slowly from the tar before you, black ooze sliding down the gargantuan mass of his divine, golden form.

His size is incomprehensible. Your brain struggles to make sense of his scale when nothing you’ve ever witnessed has come close. He is a leviathan of spines and death as he rears back - throat contorting in a beautiful arch as the glistening planes of his chest heave to suck air into lungs larger than oceans.

You want to touch him the way you want to touch lava, or molten lead. It’s the same something in the back of your brain that whispers promises of _ecstasy_ if you’ll just let yourself writhe in his burning grasp. The great idol is so beautiful and so intensely **_wrong_** that every part of you screams to run till your legs give and your breath boils, but you can’t. You can’t even _move_.

He laughs through a maw that could _swallow a city_ , blood spilling between fangs the size of skyscrapers as his mouth contorts and **splits** into something that used to be a grin, and you sit in horror in the palm of his monstrous hand as he raises you upwards towards the moons of his eyes.

He asks you your name in a voice so gentle, _it makes your heart crack_.

**Do not tell him**.

Wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	62. Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

* * *

##  ** Tyreen **

Severe, cramping hunger pains that aren’t linked to any organ or muscle and _can’t be treated_

  * She’s always had them, they’ve _always_ been there in the back of her awareness, but as time goes on they only get worse. When she was a kid she’d explain it as a “Sore tummy” to Leda and Typhon, unable to really put into words what the hollow, empty boned pain actually felt like, and her mom’s massaging hands DID offer some comfort, but by the time she’s on Pandora there is no helping them.


  * They come in waves, sometimes weeks between them, sometimes only hours, rolling, pulsing nauseous pain that swells in her guts and squirms up her core till it’s constricting her heart and lungs.


  * Her vision darkens and she’ll flag physically, a noticeable tremor running through her limbs as she waits for **The Leech’s** demands to calm so she can suck in a desperate breath.


  * Will not discuss it, doesn’t talk to Troy about it, just tells him she’s hungry and that’s why she looked so off a moment ago. Deep down, Tyreen is completely aware _whatever the hell this feeling is_ is inhuman and wrong, it’s not something anyone else could possibly understand, so she’ll keep it to herself. They don’t need to know she’s being eaten alive.



Her left hand hurts sometimes

  * Not badly, just enough for the scarring to itch in the right weather, and the damaged joints to catch a little when she flexes. She ignores it… would rather not remember.



* * *

##  **Troy **

It’s not just his back.

  * Everyone knows about Troy’s back, it’s impossible to hide and he’s given up on trying to keep it from the public. You can see the muscle twitches on streams, can catch the slight pained grimaces when a twinge hits hard and he readjusts his shoulders. There’s nothing _wrong_ with it, his spine isn’t the problem. **_He’s just too big_**. He’s too tall with compromised bone density there’s no fix for. The backs of people his height are slowly destroyed by just _standing_ , but that’s the problem really. _It’s not only his back_.


  * His neck is terrible, the malformed collarbone catches on itself sometimes, his left shoulder joint and elbow pinch nerves that jolt pain up his spine which oh, what a shock, twinges his back when he reacts to it.


  * The brace _helped_ , both due to the support and it letting the pent up Siren energy vent that used to short circuit his system into a seizure when it would spike, but the rest of him can’t be helped really. He’s sore, pretty much all the time, and there is no point _talking_ about it. Too many already see him as weak when he’s **not** … how could anyone who deals daily with that level of chronic pain be _delicate_?


  * When he drops his walls around people he genuinely feels safe with and feels more comfortable showing vulnerability, his appreciation of touch really starts to show. You can knock God King Calypso out in seconds with a massage along the base of his neck and towards his skull. He’ll lean against a friend till he slowly slides across their lap, out cold after the pressure of their body finally eased some of the muscle pain.



Compromised organs lead to issues he prefers to keep private

  * Most of him didn’t grow right.
  * His lungs are weak, they whistle on the intake, never able to _really_ fill enough for a body his size.
  * His liver functionality is stunted, he gets tired. He get’s so tired.
  * His heart struggles to keep up with his muscle demands, he feels it jump at times, miss beats.
  * Neurological issues from damaged nerve systems leave him with chronic headaches and light sensitivity… but that’s all private.
  * He deals with it himself. No one needs to know that shit. It’s fine. He’s fine.


  * It’s not _their problem_



* * *

##  **Seifa **

Her knees hurt a lot.

  * Oh yeah haha cause she’s on them so often OH HAH- no but really, it’s because she’s _on them so often._


  * Kneeling on concrete as she guts an engine, or balancing on steel sheeting while hunched over welding **hurts**. Even with the protective kneepads on her engineering gear, years of doing it have left them sore in those dull pained ways that are so common with old injury.


  * You can catch her rubbing them sometimes, if she’s distracted. Will straight up deny anything is wrong and never addresses the joint pain - just takes it as something to deal with over time.



The abdomen stab and broken wrist never really healed right.

  * She doesn’t heal great _in general_ , but both injuries happened before she was settled in the COV, and weren’t given the right aftercare they should have as she’d move on to another planet before she’d ever really finish treatment. Her wrist crunches audibly sometimes. She laughs it off but the burn afterwards is very real.


  * The puncture scar under her right ribs is thin and delicate. It never toughened and feels like soft velvet to the touch, but _hurts_ sometimes. Quick, stabbing pains that shock far deeper into her torso than she’d like, snake up her spine and into the base of her skull. They are short, they don’t last long, but the jolts are enough to stagger her breath or cause her to lose grip on something she’s holding. It’s _embarrassing_ , and she hates having to make excuses for her “clumsiness” when it happens.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	63. Seifa, intimacy (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

##  **Seifa doesn’t invite people into her bedroom.**

* * *

****

* * *

It’s not that the room holds any specific importance over the rest of her ship though, she’d find it unpleasant to play favourites with bits of herself that way, cause that’s what her ship is after all.

Her. The only part of her that hasn’t changed since she settled with the COV.

Boss handed that trade vessel to her when she was 19, and bar her flesh and bone, it’s been with her longer than anything else _in her life_.

It’s a focal point for her, a little oasis of the _real_ Seifa in a storm of bullshit and ego. She’s not playing a role behind that hull, not acting under a title or a persona designed to trip and tease competitors, it’s just her in there - surrounded by memories and her own comforts.

Stepping into her home is an immediate and clear look at the woman she actually is, there’s no hiding behind a cleverly built facade anymore. It’s a risk she’s aware of and **very** protective over. People don’t enter that little rig unless she’s already close enough to them to not _need_ to hide her genuine self, then it’s not a problem anymore. Then it doesn’t matter if they see the crooked workbench she carves glass and wire at, or her plants potted in oil tins, or that banged up gaming console that’s 2 generations old now but still has an amazing library she’s got a playlist to get through, this is her. This is Seifa’s real life.

The bolted repair plates on the inner hull that she’s painted over, that’s her.

The scratches on her refurbed old oak kitchen table, those are her.

The pilot’s seat with the really decent rakk leather cushioning she did some admirable stitch work on to sort out the tears, that’s her.

The decade old Dahl warp drive with the pressure valve on the right that does literally nothing and hasn’t worked since she bought it, but she hasn’t gotten around to fix yet? … That’s **her**.

Her whole ship is sacred, something she can’t bring herself to sully by naming despite being the kind of person to give 20 nicknames to a maintenance droid. It’s her sanctuary.

Her safety.

Her _home_.

It’s all she had for so long that she’s filled it with her own insecurities and secrets, coloured its walls in shades of memories too private to share, decorated it with nicknacks that mean nostalgia she’d find it difficult to accurately explain.

Before the COV, she’d near never allowed others inside. A couple of people she’d run jobs with maybe, when it was the logical choice to share a base with for a week or so, but not _willingly_.

She’s not sure the twins will ever really understand what she gave them by letting them stay, how much of herself she opened up to damage when she let Tyreen try and prepare food in her kitchen, when she told Troy he could consider that side of the crew quarters _his_.

She figures they’d never be able to understand anyway. They’d grown up sharing _everything_ , toothbrushes to blankets, and they’d not owned things before. They’d not _had_ a refuge like this, so she couldn’t expect them to comprehend the risk she’d taken by letting them inside, or how meaningful a gesture of love it had been to tell them they could consider _it home too_.

As a Saint, her protectiveness over her ship only increased. It became a kind of risk, a crack in armor she needed to survive here at all. Saint’s don’t live like this, Saint’s live like Xan in garish luxury within the Grand Cathedral, or like Sol in his own personal Skyscraper slicing through Harrier’s horizon.

Saint’s don’t have a coffee machine that needs repairs every month or a couch with 5 different types of fabric upholstering it.

She couldn’t let people in, couldn’t let people see past her title and tattoo, even when the skull Sigil snarled outwards from where it was painted on her airlock doors.

The slow realisation that there _were_ people who cared more about the woman under the scowl than the favors she could do for them was something she couldn’t really have prepared for, and as she little by little opened herself to them, she did the same with _her home_ , and over time, they became part of it themselves.

JK’s cushion pile, the blanket she finds neatly folded on her counter in the mornings? Part of home, they are too now.

Ven’s indent on the couch armrest from where he insists on putting his legs up when he dozes off? Part of her life, he is too now.

The little chargers and adapters Eli asked if he could leave in a drawer just in case his tech needed them while he was over or they were going to have a later night so he wouldn’t have to bring them with him? Part of the ship now, so he is too.

The tiny wall cubby in the crew quarters Troy spent weeks resting in when he was too sick to stand, and that she still sometimes finds God King Calypso curled up in - back facing the doorway with an arm curled protectively around his head on _bad nights_?

Part of her ship, part of her life, all of em.

Her bedroom though… that’s the line.

She’s not weird about it. She’s not going to grab Eli and drag him out of the cosy warmth of the room when he’s happily looking at the photos framed around it, she doesn’t tell Ven to shutup and mind his own business when he asks where she got the four post bed, doesn’t sneer when JK walks by and gestures at the gently swaying lanterns that rope across the ceiling, she just keeps it _to herself_.

She doesn’t invite them in, she doesn’t initiate conversation about it, she just closes the door in a subtle gesture of privacy when her friends are in her home and the rest of the ship is filled with laughter, or tears, or frustration.

That room is hers.

That’s her little sarcophagus of the soul, that’s where she lays awake some nights, or sobs on her shower floor. That’s where she sits on the plush down of her duvet and sorts through ancient invoices and photos of people who aren’t around anymore, smirks at old memories she’s not recalled with anyone since.

If she’s getting a good fuck, it’s in someone else’s home, if she’s sharing a space with friends overnight it will be in Troy’s Sanctum, or JK’s office, or Ven and Eli’s apartment.

 **That** room is for her to sit in the last little shreds of herself that she hasn’t given to others, it’s to be _alone in_ , just her thoughts and skin.

Sharing that bed with someone would be handing them her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	64. You're lucky I LIKE you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

* * *

##  ** Troy **

On top of _obvious_ longstanding interest in shitty OC’s with sword arms and blood powers and GIANT WINGS that are self inserts he doesn’t even try to hide but get’s **really** defensive over, the dude went _headfirst_ into edgy culture in like, the twin’s second year on Pandora.

They were still finding their way through the aesthetics they wanted to use and both of them were just a bit too deep into what they were aiming for. Ty was wearing makeup so thick you could scrape it off with a spoon, and Troy was full-blown _red streak highlight and heavy eyeliner with ripped designer ( ~~not remotely fitting him~~ ) outfits accessorised with fishnet gloves and dangling piercings and just.. too fucking much._

If he was 16 he could have pulled it off, maybe, but he was 22 and it was rough. It was highly rough.

He still fucking loves that shit and honestly only tamed it back at the insistent begging of the entire media team, the makeup and wardrobe department, Tyreen, Seifa ( _irony_ ), Ven, and eventually a direct ultimatum from the Saint of financing, Solomon.

JK on the other hand was completely supportive, and is still a bit disappointed he doesn’t push it as far anymore.

The chains Troy gifted them are straight from one of his old ensembles, and he’s pretended he hasn’t noticed the couple of studded jackets that have gone missing over the years.

* * *

##  ** Tyreen **

Ty talks with completely confidence about shit she knows literally nothing about or is clearly, _demonstrably_ in the wrong over, and does so at great length in front of anyone - usually while Troy is foaming at the mouth behind her and about to go apeshit.

  * `Remember in Bl3 where he had to explain through gritted teeth that both their teams were dead and she hadn't won? That.`



It’s so desperately cringe because no one can stop her. The only person she _might_ respond to is Troy, and when it happens it’s generally in a position where he can’t risk undermining their perceived relationship in front of other people so he just stands there biting the inside of his mouth to stop himself from screaming corrections at her, while everyone else surrounding her cringes so hard they want to turn inside out.

They have to just laugh and go along with it, even if she’s monologuing with complete confidence about _painfully_ incorrect shit. You can’t criticise the God Queen, so you just have to smile, hope she’s going to finish soon, and try not die inside before she’s done.

  
Or die after, if she spots how fake your interest had been.

* * *

##  ** Seifa **

Her fucking _photos._

The shit Sei actually has some talent in: gem cutting, jewelry crafting, and basic sculpting, are all things she doesn’t really have any confidence in and so keeps relatively private.

She made finger braces out of silver and little citrines for Eli’s birthday once, she’s jokingly handed Ven over a disgustingly huge glitzy amulet and left a bag of offcuts in JK’s office she knows will probably end up proudly decorating trinkets, but she doesn’t talk about it or draw attention to the hobbies.

 _Thinks she’s a fucking hot-shit photographer tho_.

She’s NOT.

Sei’s “arty” shots are fucking, like, _live love laugh_ level landscape backgrounds. She has NO eye for layout, perspective, colour, anything. If you were looking at one of her photos in a group of others you’d just pass it by innocently enough and move on, but she is _way_ too full of herself in regards to her “skill level” with them and straight up brags about em. **OFTEN**.

She’ll sit a friend down and insist on going over some of her latest bloom filtered max contrast off balance fuckin’ colour corrected atrocities while going on, and on, and _on_ about complete wank like the _thought process_ behind the shot, the _emotion_ she was capturing, giving _them_ tips on how to break into professional photography, and never once picking up that they actually just want to peel their skin off the entire time she’s droning on.  
  
Troy has mastered looking like he’s listening to her while actually shutting down his brain functions to the point he enters a near-coma state. The others sadly have no choice but to suffer till she’s done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	65. His secrets (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

Troy doesn’t feel comfortable discussing the chronic issues he lives alongside with **anyone**.

He’s spent his entire life trying to _not_ be pitied while stumbling in the shadow of Tyreen’s blinding light, demanding perfection from himself to hide physical weaknesses and chronic illness from the greedy eyes of the billions of online followers who obsess over the twin’s _every recorded breath_.

But if you know God King Calypso well enough, if you’re close enough to him?

There are gentle ways to reassure Father Troy it’s _safe_ to tell you the truth.

* * *

* * *

**Sei and Troy are very close.**  


They weren’t originally, it was actually Tyreen who was far more in tune with Seifa in those first couple of months together, back when the twins were recovering on her ship after their first failed attempt at surviving on Pandora.

Ty was engaging, a bubbly young woman full of endearing chattiness and interested in everything Sei did. A hundred questions an hour as she followed Sei around the ship like, what _are_ sponsorships? How do you get marks to keep their eye on you and not be distracted by competition? How do you move to make them hungry for your body? How do you know when you’ve gone too far? How do you read the room? How do you - 

Tyreen had a million hows and a mouth that never seemed to need to rest, but Troy was silent. He had his reasons… he didn’t want to **be there** after all. 

Pandora had been cruel to them both from the moment their worn soles crunched into its acrid dust, but it had _hurt_ Troy. Really, it had almost killed him.

He’d been left sick, uncomfortable in his own stretched skin, and _wary_ of anyone who was other - which meant Seifa. Thinking back on it, she had been pretty insulted by how he’d acted in the first few weeks in her home, before she understood.

Tyreen on the other hand was _thankful_ for her. She was a font of laughter and energy, flitting about the ship as her new friend worked and attempting to “help her” in thanks for the hospitality Sei had shown them, as if hindering her chores with constant interruptions was somehow going to pay her back for taking them in, but Troy? He was just… there. 

A looming, gangly shape standing awkwardly in corners. Rudely quiet, only proving he wasn’t mute through crackly whispers to his twin that would fall silent when Seifa would approach. A nervous, cagey giant of a child who came across as both irritated and _terrified_ by Sei, till he’d finally talked, and he’d explained **everything**.

Tyreen had been the one who filled the ship with laughter in those first 6 months, but _Troy_ had been the one to tell her the truth of things. 

They settled as companions, slowly.

By the time Seifa had accepted the twin’s request to join their management staff in the early growth of the COV and had returned to Pandora, the friendship between the three was _easy_. 

Tyreen was still the focus of all attention mind you, it was still her who’d control the conversations and limelight when they’d meet each week in the “God Twin’s” shared cloister to relax together in dropping their charades and becoming _human_ again for a few hours.

Troy was happy just to sit between the women and smile as they eased into their drinks and each other’s company on those nights. It was enough for him to simply exist next to people who _liked_ his presence. There was warmth in those times, Sei’s snorting laughter cracking a smile across his face he could never quite hide as she’d lean against the weight of his side, Ty insisting they watch as she theatrically reenacted how the day’s encounter with off-world investors had gone. Never well for _them_ , but always hilariously in her favor.

As the months turned to a year though, Tyreen just slowly stopped turning up.

They never _really_ noticed as it happened, it was subtle, one missed night a month, then 2, then 3… It became Sei and Troy instead of Sei and the Twins.

The conversations would turn a little gentler without Tyreen’s razor-sharp energy to infect them, and they’d sit side by side, sharing snippets of each other’s pasts, their hopes, and the things they both wanted from this newborn cult. Regrets sometimes, if the atmosphere was right.

The cloister slowly started to feel empty with just two people, and they knew deep down that Tyreen was unlikely to start joining again - she was far too busy with her God Queen persona and heaving fanbase to have the _time_ to waste doing fuck all with close friends. The high walls and open space decor of the twin’s shared quarters started feeling cold without her electricity, so they shifted to his ship instead. Troy’s Sanctum.

She’d still turn up every so often, a couple of months of no appearances and then that crystalline laughter would ring through his quarters and they’d turn to raise a glass at the holy Vault Mother as she kicked off her boots with gusto and grabbed a seat, but eventually, that stopped too, and for quite a long time it was just Troy and Seifa on those nights, together in warm comfort.

A friendship that had bloomed into the easy, open kind where silence didn’t mean awkwardness, where you could sit arm against arm and breath out the stresses of titles, and Godhood, and the crushing weight of responsibilities you never really asked for or wanted, and just… **be**. Just exist next to the reassuring presence of someone who never wanted more from you than what you could honestly give, because they _knew who you really were_ , deep in your core.

It was Jak-Knife who joined next.

Troy’s bodyguard had stood stoically outside his Sanctum’s doors so many times, nodded at the Mechanicum’s Saint as Seifa would arrive, catch her wink and knowing nod as they’d step to the side for her. It made sense they’d eventually find their way inside at his welcome, and the shared laughter in his home grew with their gruff warmth and open heart.

It was Ven, after.

The Oracle was impossible to avoid in general, he was a grandstanding assault on the senses with charisma almost as flamboyant as his dress sense, but the longer anyone spent around Ven, the easier it was to truly appreciate his company for what it really was. Someone who genuinely liked you for who you _were_ , and not what his unique insight told him you could provide him in the future.

Troy had _always_ had a soft spot for the gaudy soothsayer. Personal reasons maybe, he was the only one who knew what Ven had signed his life away to the COV in return for after all, and maybe that was why when Ven began to fill Sanctum with terrible stories and obvious lies about the beautiful people who fawned over him on benders in the Holy City’s slums, it didn’t take long before his delicate brother Eli joined them too. 

Seifa saw the connection even if the other’s didn’t, Eli’s joint braces and medical equipment, the sadness in Troy’s glances. Physical weakness, unashamed from someone so strong in character. She saw how Troy looked at the other man, the fleeting _respect_ in those ice-blue eyes. The _shame_.

They became a unit in the end, Jk, Ven, Eli, Seifa, and their broken God-King, a rickety family existing inside the guts of a monstrous one as the COV surrounded and spread through their lives with every passing day its grip across Pandora tightened.

 **But Seifa and Troy are very _close_.**

They know each other, inside and out. They’ve shared their failures, illnesses, rages and tears. They are the keeper of each other’s _years_ of secrets. That he’s so sick so often, that her right eye is practically blind, that he wishes he wasn’t what he’s turned into, that they are both so desperately _lonely_.

She knows how to manipulate him into being honest about the painful reality he carries in a body that’s never really functioned well, that’s gnawed at inside by half of a power no one understands enough to try and heal.

She perfected it by watching the other people who care about him.

  * JK, huffing theatrically as they eye an exhausted Troy’s shaky hand as he forces himself to continue working, complaining that _they are hungry_ , that he may be a workhorse but _they_ need to rest, then chuckling at his blustery ego as he mocks them and takes the out.
  * Ven and his little white lies, his warnings that Troy needs to stop pouring over the latest viewer statistics and take a break, because he “got glances” at bad outcomes if they weren’t left till later. The reassurances that everything will be fine and things will turn out _better_ if he stops for the night.
  * Eli, explaining how the latest medication course Troy’s medical team recommended _really_ helped with the tension pull in his shoulders from his spinal issues, chatting in surprising detail about how relieving it’s been, what dosage he’s been taking…



Troy will not talk about his chronic issues with anyone, because he is terrified of appearing weak. She doesn’t know why for definite, but she can guess, and is pretty sure it’s related to his childhood. From the snippets he’s given her, the emotionless monotone of his voice when he speaks about his father, well, she has hunches. 

Neither of the twins were happy as children, neither of them talk about “ _home_ ” with even a vague sparkle of joy in their dead eyes. But Troy, he shies away from it, like there is something he’s ashamed of, or the lingering ghost of something that haunted his early years and follows him still.

Troy is terrified of being pitied because he so desperately wants to be seen as reliable. He wants to be strong. He wants to be **useful.**

So to get him to open up? _You_ need to ask for _his_ help.

Sei is a clever woman, and Troy is a lost, broken man who is so easy to wrap around her finger that sometimes she wonders at times if it’s _intentional_.

When she sees him flagging, when his skin is a little lighter than normal, the dark under his eyes deeper, she’ll play the damsel. She’ll let him be the knight in shining armour that the little boy in him so clearly wishes it could have grown into. Sei will gasp gently when they are alone in his ship on these nights, pinch her lip between her teeth as she slowly rotates her wrist and stares sadly at the tremor that runs through it. She’ll act it out, knowing he’s watching, and wait for him to take the bait.

He always does - he can’t help it. He’ll always try and help her even when he’s sick or exhausted. He’ll always approach and ask if she’s ok even if a migraine is rendering him barely able to stand.. because that’s who _he is_. That’s the real _Troy DeLeon_.

She’ll sit on the plush edge of the recessed couch in the floor of his Sanctum, and wait for him to shakily lower his towering body to the cushioned floor in front of her, before he gently takes her wrist in a hand that could easily crush it.

She’ll wince, flutter her eyelashes with a gasp, and nod along to his muttered questions as he turns it so carefully, crankily asking when it last acted up, why hasn’t she seen the specialist he contacted months ago, why she’s not taken time off when he knows he’s not working her _that_ hard, why is she such a pain in the ass, how bad does it hurt, is he helping…

Seifa will wait, all quiet sighs and hitched breaths till he’s so focused in shifting the tiny bones of her wrist under the pressure of his thumb that she can ask him how _he_ feels, and he’ll tell her.

That’s the key. 

Troy Calypso is so terrified of being seen as _less_ because of his pain, that he’ll pretend it doesn’t exist, he’ll suffer in silence alone in the sorrow of his empty ship. But if _he’s_ protecting someone else? If he is massaging the old fracture in Seifa’s wrist and lost in the concentration of trying to ease her distress? He’ll tell her about his neck if she asks, or the pain in the dull hollow of his lumbar, or how he’s thrown up 4 times today, how he woke up the other night and was _sure_ his heart had stopped.

He’ll mumble out secret fears he was hiding behind the God King’s vicious mask for weeks, and he’ll let her run fingers through his hair as she tells him how strong he _really_ is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	66. Express yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

##  ** Tyreen **

**Spends a lot of personal time working on her aesthetic.**

Not for _work_ , but for relaxation. It’s a very serious point of expression for Ty, she has total control over how she looks and the makeup and costume department reports to _her_ , so there’s something very enjoyable for her about working through lookbooks and moodboards, getting her claws into trends from the border planets and thinking of ways to integrate them into her appearance.

She has control there. Real control with no hidden caveat, no danger or pain for others.. it’s just _nice_.

She’s unexpectedly skilled as a seamstress. Well, unexpected for those who don’t know her past; It was Tyreen who patched together most of the twin’s clothes as they continuously grew out of their rags as kids, and it was Ty who put together their original outfits, working with Troy’s sketched designs and the simple clothing they’d been able to afford from the discount markets along the docklands.

She likes it - threads, jewelry, accessories, hair styles, makeup. She gets to build a God Queen whenever she wants. It’s tactile.   
  
She can _touch_ the planes of fabric she’ll use to craft her new skin.

* * *

##  ** Troy **

**He’s artistic even if he wouldn’t describe himself that way.**

Always had an appreciation for colours and hard shapes. It might have been born of often being too ill to move much as a kid, or maybe it was just his natural disposition, but he’d sit for hours and watch light flickering through the latticework leaves of blue hued trees on Nekro, or how glowpods would pulse and dim their luminescence while slightly changing the hue like they were breathing.

All of the COV’s graffiti-esque iconography is based on Father Troy’s work.

He made it by hand originally, back when every dollar they earned had to be carefully budgeted into new tech and rental fees. He’d use spray paint and chunks of metal, wood, any interesting shaped scrap that cought his eye and he could block out shapes with, hash textures through. His complete lack of exposure to techniques or styles from others left him with a _really_ interesting personal one, and it’s emulated now in all of the COV’s public design.

He still works on the more personal imagery from hanging canvases in a corner of Sanctum, pieces he’s not comfortable with acolytes working on in his stead.  
  
Ones like the stained glass window designs depicting the twins, the Saint’s icons, campaign images, the looming, harsh, black and white silhouette based wall coverings that outline his regal sister next to his monstrous shape.  
  
The design team can’t recreate what it is he captures in these, the discomfort of their jagged angles and cruel lines.

His shit probably sells for literal fortunes online to fans, but he’s never sold any himself. He doesn’t make it to _sell_ , it’s for him and Ty. For his friends.

**Sings quite a lot**

Quietly and usually wordlessly. It’s a little emotional release he does often in private or when he’s very comfortable around people and is relaxed. Trickles it under his breath as he works or stirs a pot of food in his kitchen quarters.

JK, Ven and Eli would have heard it often enough as they turned from employees to _friends_ over the first few years, people don’t tend to bring it up, but it’s something you’d notice if around him for any period of time.. and if he _likes_ you.

* * *

##  ** Seifa **

**Very shitty attempted sculpture**

Sei would _love_ to be artistic but really isn’t, the jewelry she creates is logical, follows rules of tension and form, she can’t see that as _art_ the way Troy creates, or how JK decorates their gear, or how Tyreen displays herself, or the way Eli coaxes song from inanimate instruments.

She’s not artistic, but she does understand metals pretty well, and how much weight a socket type can hold, and what heat range an alloy can reach before it flexes, so sometimes she uses that to make things.

Not jewelry to wear, actual things, bigger things. Rakks in iron and corrugated plating. A hunched Alpha Skag that might not be exactly accurate but has the weight, the angle of the powerful shoulders, the tear of the claws in outline. Flowers coaxed out of welding scars and wingnuts who lost their threading. Simple little people from flex tubing and scrap copper.

They aren’t good, but they are how she sees those things, the shape they take, and even if she never _shows_ most of them to anyone else, they make her happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	67. What if?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

She’d been right, it _wasn’t_ her problem, and you don’t make the mistake of helping others when you’re barely managing to survive. Not on Pandora. She wasn’t _stupid_.

She kept her migrant trade habits for a few years more, built a little nest egg off lucky deals and the gaps in salvage lines when a competitor would go belly up. Life wasn’t easy but it wasn’t _hard_ either, not as time ticked past and her network of influence grew.

Opened up a decent repair shop in the guts of Promethea’s head city. Never really liked that place but it was safe, the locals were _tolerable_ , and profits were decent. After Helios fell there was a constant flow of machinery needing calibration, scavenged bots needing servicing, it was easy money really.

She’s comfortable, she’s happy. Friends and funds are all she’s ever needed.

Sei still hears news of Pandora sometimes, hard not to with all that bullshit about the “ _ **Dune Witch**_ ” those mad fucks and their war caravans have been rallying behind, the attacks on innocents, the murders and cannibalism all in the name of their queen’s “hunger”, but she doesn’t really _give a shit._

It’s not her problem, and she’ll never go back.

* * *

Not much to it really, just a clumsy heap of stones laying in the shadows of one of the great rocky outcrops that juts from the deadened crust behind it. Some old abandoned shacks, some sour memories on the wind.

Nothing out of the ordinary for the wastelands of Pandora, nothing you’d give a second glance to… but the Bandits **know** to stay away.

She’s warned them, around campfires where fresh offerings to her bleed into the acrid dirt, she’s told them to keep their distance. That place is _cursed_. Most nod, whispering praise as her markings glint in the firelight, but others swell with pride.

A challenge from their Witch Siren, an opportunity to prove their bravery and devotion! 

_They never return to share what they found._

You can feel it prickling across your skin before it tightens in your lungs, the hairs raise across the back of your neck as you step towards that long, narrow pile of stones. Your gut clenches _before_ the eyes in the corner of your vision begin to open along the rockface, and by that point it’s too late.

It’s alone, and it’s angry, and it’s so _desperately_ hungry. You’ll stay a while. 

**He needs company.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	68. Mixed HCs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

  * Siren wings aren’t physical - _mostly_ -, they have no heft or real weight to them and aren’t “real” objects that exist within the same space as their owners. The wings are more manifestations of power, the visualisation of the Siren’s concentrated energy. They don’t fly with them, they aren’t actually _doing_ anything generally, any movement a Siren performs while their wings are visible is due to expending their power - hovering, levitating etc, it’s not the wings displacing air.



  * To the touch they’d feel like… the warm static on front of an old TV screen, a tingling buzz of resistance you can pass through but feel like you _shouldn’t_. They feel very off, other, it would be hard to experience one brush through your body and not carry some kind of creeping dread for a few hours after that part of it was _still inside your chest cavity_ somewhere.



  * The forms they take on aren’t related to their Siren Powers at all, the great sources don’t care or even know when their powers are being used by a host, they aren’t making decisions over things as removed from their sphere of concern as fucking _wings_ , Siren wings are extensions of self. They represent how that Siren see’s who they really are, in one way or another.



  * Amara hardens hers into solid fists, powerful muscle shaped into a protective cage or battering onslaught. They flex and posture in a display of raw physical power behind her back.



  * Lilith’s burn everything she touches, friends, enemies, they destroy and warp reality around them. They don’t _belong_ anywhere, and they do more _harm_ than good.



  * Troy’s twitchy, skeletal right wing that’s stunted and bent in on itself isn’t related to his body damage at all… it’s how he sees his form. The vile eyes rolling in their sockets and glaring hatred at everything around him that bulge from the pinions of his left aren’t being created by **The Leech** , it’s his extension of self, how he understands and translates its power, how he _experiences_ it. He doesn’t know this though, and it’s one of the reasons he’s _disgusted_ by his wings.



  * Tyreen is wretchedly proud of her own, the horrific tentacles of energy that rip through her back, but she doesn’t understand those aren’t the same as other Sirens. Those aren’t wings at all, it’s **The Leech** physically manifesting, not a symbol of her own power and control.



  * ~~If she ever did leech Troy in LL hers would be the stunted, barely visible purple static ones from canon, because Tyreen _has barely any_ sense of self left. There is so little of who she actually is, that her psyche forms… nothing. Sad, pathetic silhouettes that pale in comparison to the memory of her brother’s breathtaking wingspan.~~



  * The twins don’t _like_ leaving Pandora in general, Troy seeing it as a nuisance, and Tyreen not dealing well with travelling on what she considers “cramped” transport vessels. There is also a major element of danger, cosmic space witches don’t hold as much weight when the skirmish is outside a planet’s atmosphere, and a hull breach doesn’t care if you’ve got magic powers.



  * Her claustrophobia and issues with feeling caged are one of the reasons Ty leaves so much of the cult’s off-world business and faction schmoozing to Troy, he’s far more comfortable warping in Sanctum with a small escort fleet than she would be knowing she can’t _leave_ her ship for 24 hours.



  * They won’t make trips longer than a short jump to a border planet in anything smaller than their flagship, the danger of being swarmed by an ambush is a tad _too_ real, and the COV’s main transport is a - _massive_ \- cruiser class warship kept in orbit around Pandora. It doesn’t have a name, it doesn’t need one. Its city dwarfing silhouette of jutting spires and eye-burning floodlights that beam from the building-sized sockets of skulls scrapped together from the wreckage of enemy ships do _more_ than enough to announce _who’s_ vessel this is.



  * It can transport an _army_ comfortably, and while devoid of Psychos, is filled with rotating shifts of Bandit and engineering crew. Its iconic visuals are due to tireless work of acolytes and pious worshippers who cover the surface while it’s resting in orbit, painting neon COV iconography in teams that can take days to finish a single building sized piece, welding spines, blades, screaming rusted skulls and fluorescent light tubes across the massive breadth of its hull.



  * The thing is a fucking _monster_ in the dark of space, and if it’s ripping through a planet’s atmosphere alongside thousands of escort gunships decorated in its honor, the surface inhabitants know **exactly** who has come to claim their fealty.



  * The lower crewpeople call it “Vae Victus” with some mix of adoration and fear, Troy doesn’t like that. Doesn’t think _things_ like his warship should have a name, it’s beautiful as it is - free and nightmarish, it doesn’t need to be described as anything other than _the ship_.



  * Tyreen doesn’t feel a physical attraction to people anymore, and hasn’t really realised this. Shes not asexual, the feeling just isn’t _there_ , another symptom of The Leech consuming her piece by piece. She gets fiercely, _painfully_ envious of Troy’s “time” with willing followers, of the way he doesn’t even really react to eager touches along his skin as he lounges sprawled across his throne while they sit in boredom and listen to whatever bullshit the queues forming all the way out of the Cathedral have come to confess, but it’s how used to it he is that irks her. How much he takes for granted something she can’t have. Tyreen doesn’t _like_ not being able to _have_ things. There’s a reminder there that she doesn’t have the real control she seeks so desperately.



  * She has extreme issues with feeling trapped in every way, physical, in her environment, in her decision making etc, it’s one of the reasons she can’t stand being told she’s wrong, or that she _has_ to do something, and it all stems from The Leech rather than her.



  * Troy heals much faster than anyone would expect from someone with so many complex physical issues. He doesn’t spend any time thinking about this and genuinely doesn’t notice it’s a factor, but the man has _very_ few scars. A severe injury that would leave a horrific gash on someone else just seals for him, always has. He pulled a bayonet out of his abdomen just before he crushed that heretic’s head in his maw’s reveal, and didn’t even _react_. Within a couple of weeks that was just another slight silvery line across the warmth of his ochre skin, and it wouldn’t take much longer till it vanished entirely.



  * It’s likely one of the little reasons he’s so uncomfortable about the paper-thin coverage of the _major_ scarring on his empty right that never healed, it’s such a horrible clash against his otherwise unmarred skin to look at, and Troy finds himself often letting his eyes rest absentmindedly on _other_ people’s scars, subconsciously comparing against his own, trying to understand if he’s as abnormal visually as he believes.



  * He has a few, scratch marks across his knees from falling a lot as a kid, the indent cuts along the sides of his spine for his rig attachments, but they aren’t that noticeable. His throat scars later, they don’t heal great. They show for, well, forever, and it takes him a couple of decades to realise that’s how it had always worked, that he _chose_ what to keep and what to let heal all along.



  * He still.. falls a lot as an adult. He stumbles, he has severe moments of weakness that can make him trip to the side and rock down to his knees before he manages to get a hand under himself, and it’s never his right even though he usually falls to that side. He always tries to steady himself with his left, even after **_years_**.



  * For all her bullshittery about being well-travelled and street-smart and blah blah blah, Seifa can be shockingly innocent at times with things she’s not much experience of. Ven taking her to a track race? Wow. _Where do they sit? How do you know when it starts. What happens if that shit goes on fire? Oh VEN that shit IS ON FIRE!! Is it meant to be? Oh whoah. OHHHH._



  * She’s grabby, she’s a super tactile person who tries to not touch too much and respect people’s boundaries but if she’s excited or _scared_ or can see a close friend is hurting, she tends to give in. She’d be hanging off his arm, bouncing in her seat and screaming as the racers roared by, and she’ll go back home and talk to JK about it like she’s some kind of expert who’s been attending them _years_.



  * When they do - _eventually_ \- stop doing a terrible job of pretending things haven’t shifted for them to their friends, her playful nastiness towards Troy only increases. The sparkle in her eye does too though, and you’d have to not know either of them to think it wasn’t intensely affectionate. Yeah she rips into him right in front of a chuckling Eli or JK, but _he_ knows the things she whispers tenderly against his throat as she’s falling asleep. _He_ knows what it’s like to wake up with her fingers loosely entwined in his, knowing she’d taken his hand in the night. _He_ knows how gentle and soft she actually is, so he’ll let her make the little digs. It’s a _good deal_ , and he’s spent enough time around the little shit to know how to spot those.



  * ( ~~Genuinely awful job of hiding things. Ven pointing accusingly at the Troy sized mound and messy black hair desperately trying to hide itself under her duvet she’s accidentally let him catch a glimpse of as she INSISTS everything’s fine and she _just needs five minutes to get her makeup on hey why doesn’t he turn on the TV she’ll just be a sec yeah she just has to close the bedroom door no don’t worry about it pal yeah bye back in a minute_ etc~~)



  * Troy wears his prosthetic so much in public and has had to practice gestures with it so many times, that very rarely he tries to perform a learned gesture while _not_ wearing it and shit goes to hell.



  * A huffy God King mid argument trying to cross his arms and just… _going nowhere_ with the left as it swings towards the empty bracer, then pretending he did it on purpose while progressively getting redder and closer to a tantrum as the friend he’s talking to desperately tries not to laugh.



  * It’s almost all gestures it happens with, his regular movements and functionality are from a lifetime of not having the prosthetic so he’s not going to run into any trouble there. He doesn’t reach for things with an empty bracer because he automatically _always_ uses his left, but the things he had to learn since Pandora and practice daily so he could look like he _was a natural_ with it?



  * Those pop into his movements sometimes when he’s only in the bracer and are usually a combination of frustrating and _very funny_.



  * Things like his physical threat, that’s not something that was part of his life before the God King, how to hold himself and twist the massive arm forward while letting the shoulder blades spread for the viewers are things he had to practice and learn. If he’s angry and not wearing it he’ll sometimes shift into trying to perform the same actions and just looking confused for a second as his side shakes before he blushes and storms away.



  * If he’s sitting lost in a story Ven is telling and starts absent-mindedly playing with what’s in his hand, he’ll sometimes toss it to catch with the right, something he purposefully does in the background of streams to display _finesse_ and strength subtly… cept in Sanctum that means just _yeeting the fucking beer can sideways across the room_ and everyone stopping conversation for a second while he blanches.



  * Smarmy, stoned Troy getting into an insults chicken match with JK or Sei, grinning ear to ear and flashing a practised cocky grin before leaning to rest arrogantly against a door frame and just _falling into the wall_.



  * It only happens when he’s repeating something he’s practiced for a persona, so it’s a lot less _hurtful_ than it could be for his esteem, but it’s still embarrassing and he usually launches straight into being a huffy little asshole directly afterwards ( even if the genuine laughter feels _nice_ in a way)



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	69. What's mine is MINE. (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

See no evil, speak no truths. Live **my** lies, your _reckoning’s due_.

\- **T** **h** **e** **L** **e** **e** **c** **h**

* * *

The first time she’d tried to leech Troy they were 11, and she’d grabbed his hand to pull him down into the warm soil around a Nekrotree’s roots, laughing through gap teeth that it was time to share the warmth in her tummy from the glowpods he’d found for her.

It wasn’t on _purpose_ , it’s not like she’d planned ahead or given it thought, it was just.. it just happened. The question of _if she could_ whispered through her mind in a fraction of a second as their hands touched and she felt the cool pull of passing energy to her twin.

She’d paused, rolling it on her tongue for a moment as she watched him lean back against the rough bark, letting his eyes slide closed and those _lines_ that already scoured his little face relax.

It wouldn’t work, right?

It wouldn’t. They shared, nothing would happen if she tried to take.. would it?

Ty had twisted her free fingers in the hem of her threadbare shirt, squinting at the markings that glowed across their joined hands with the gentle thrum of power she felt him pull through her core. It felt like exhaling with a heavy wind at your back, a subtle _assistance_ that wasn’t sinister in any way just… it was hungry. He was hungry, and a tiny pang of guilt tightened her chest as she watched their markings pulse slowly. Maybe she should have shared sooner, but Troy would never _ask_.

He was pretending he couldn’t hear the sounds as they felt the bond seal, he always did that, it was stupid. He’d insist nothing was happening while she _knew_ he heard the same thing, the wash of confusing background noise that would fill their heads with static when they joined like this. She turned to stare back at the entrance to the vault, thinking of Dad and his crackly old E-Com, the garbled audio that was _almost_ language it would hiss out of a broken speaker. That’s what the sound was like sometimes, or at least, the closest comparison she could think of in her isolated little world.

She swallowed hard, half her insisting she should forget the question that had just fluttered across her thoughts, half eagerly egging her on to **find out**. What _would_ happen if she tried to take power from _him_? How would it feel? What would it look like?

Would it hurt? Would it be like that time Mom had told her not to get too close to the fire but she’d _had_ to know for herself why? Would it burn too? The urge to do it felt the same as thst time had, curiosity too strong to ignore despite the warnings surrounding it.

She knew that now she’d thought of the question once, she couldn’t pretend otherwise, wouldn’t be able to forget it had been asked. It would bounce around in her little head till she found out the answer, mom had always said Ty was going to be an adventurer one day, a great one just like dad. Leda had smiled and told her it was because wanting to know the answer to questions was the greatest reason to explore. That if she hadn’t wanted to know the answers to her own questions, she’d never have her Starlight and Moonbright, never found this home and her family.

Tyreen would try then. Just for a second. Just once. Just like dabbing a battery against her tongue to feel the shock. Just like passing her hand through that flame, because she was an adventurer like mom had said, and she needed to _know_.

A slow, even breath out as she loosened her shoulders and settled back into her spine, then Tyreen focused, gathering the threads of wavering energy she could feel shimmer through her body and into his, and with just a _twitch_ , the most subtle shift of the flow, _pulled back_.

And nothing happened.

The lack of response was more jarring that anything she’d been prepared for. If it had burned, if Troy had yelped and pulled his hand away, if _anything_ had responded, it would have been less disturbing. **Nothing**. The tug hadn’t even registered, the same complete lack of response as if she’d yanked at a rope tied to Dad’s old _ship_. No movement, no give. He hadn’t even opened his eyes.

Ty sucked at her lower lip and shuffled her knees under her, glaring unblinking at where their thumbs crossed. Maybe she just.. maybe it needed to be harder. She never had to pull normally, she couldn’t _stop_ pulling normally. Maybe she just didn’t know how to do it on purpose. She’d try again. Just a little harder. Just so she could be sure and not have to _question_ it ever again.

She screwed her eyes shut, biting down with slowly increasing pressure on her lip as she focused on the whistle of his breathing, on the blistering heat of the power beginning to roil and churn inside her ribs, the tendrils of heat snaking inside her arm to taste and squirm against his cool skin, and she **pulled**.

She pulled, harder, harder, waiting to feel the give, there _must_ be a give, everything else crumbled against this magic warmth when she didn’t even try, there would be a give, of _course there would be a give if she kept pulling_ and -

Nothing.

The taste of blood broke her concentration before the realisation she hadn’t breathed in half a minute did, she gasped in a shaky breath and yanked her hand out of his, wild-eyed as she watched him fumble in confused fright and scrabble to his feet.

“Ty??”

Her ears were ringing, unsure what he was saying when he awkwardly dropped to his knees in front of her in a heap of gangly limbs and crookedness, and mouthed something while his hand gently squeezed her shoulder.

“..u ok Ty..n?”

It felt like she was drowning, breath wasn’t filling her lungs right and his gaunt face swam in her vision, blurred and concerned as the dull roar in her head slowly cleared.

“Ty you’re b-bleeding..”

She jolted back as his hand moved from her shoulder, and Troy froze, eyes dark with worry as he glanced down. Her gaze slowly following his to the blood dripping onto her thighs from the nosebleed she realised he’d been about to wipe, sticky and glinting black in the dim light.

Her ribs felt like _glass_ , everything was empty inside, what did he _do_ , what.. what…

“What happened..?” he whispered, looking back up through tears as hers began to spill past her lashes.

She swallowed again, running her tongue slowly over her swollen lip as gnawing doubt crept into the back of her throat, the first flicker of an emotion she’d never felt before settling in her tummy.

“I don’t _know_ , Troy.”

She wished that wasn’t the truth.

* * *

The second time they were 18, wasting away on the dead planet they called home, watching their pathetic lives tick by slowly.

She’d been so damn tired, another night unable to sleep. The constant drone of singing Korax just _too_ loud to manage to blank out. It got this bad every year during breeding season, and the nights always felt long. Typhon would snore through it, but the twins usually couldn’t sleep properly till the month ended and would nap in the cool shade of tree boughs during the day instead. Shift their sleeping patterns around the creatures that made this place home and wait for the Korax to move on. They belonged here, after all. The twins didn’t.

Ty had given up on resting through the chirping echose and had carefully padded out of the sleeping area, noting Troy’s empty bedroll as she wrapped a thin blanket repurposed from panelling insulation around her shoulders. The night was cool and heavy, amplifying the animal’s whistling calls through the clarity of the air. It smelled like damp soil and rotting wood on nights like this - lovely in a way she’d come to appreciate. That was the smell of life, of death and growth blooming and decaying all around them. Clean, like mom used to describe it. Ty had quietly shuffled across the smooth rock of the vault and towards the outer camp, filling deep lungfulls with that delicious air as she searched for her missing twin.

She found him cracking bones from the meal he’d eaten with dad earlier by the campfire, a hunched mess of jutting shapes and harsh shadows in front of the embers as he picked desperately at marrow.

As he heard her approach he quickly tossed the remnants with a panicked flick of his hand, and she didn’t need him to turn to know he was flushed in shame at being found like this. She could hear that clear enough in his voice as he grumbled out a shaky greeting over his shoulder.

“Hey… hungry again?” a stupid question really, she knew he was. He _always was_ , not in the exact same way as she felt it, but still, hunger was something they both knew intimately.

It took him a moment to answer, hair fluttering in the firelight as he shook his head tiredly, staring at the dust in front of him as she slowly lowered herself to the ground by his side.

“Yeah. Didn’t really.. d-didn’t really get much today, not after sharing with dad. It just ain’t ever enough Ty, it’s n-never enough…” he paused to lean into her a little.

“I try and like, I try and be fair, I can’t give him less cause he needs to eat and he _can’t_ go hunting anymore but..” he trailed off worldlessly, warm light glinting reflections in the darks of his eyes.

She shifted the cloth around his shoulder too, pressing hers against his empty right as they rested their heads together side by side.

“Is it the, you know, our _power_ thing?”

He nodded slowly, still staring at the fire.

“Yeah. Always is. And it’s not like there’s payoff, it doesn’t _do_ anything bar make me so hungry, Ty.”

She waited quietly, something unsaid was on the air, and she could feel him tense against her as he mulled over the words on the tip of his tongue.

“…It’s not even that, it just, it feels like I… feels like it should be doing something, you know? There’s something inside me, it’s not just the markings, there’s Siren in me. I know there is, it’s _just_ under my skin. It’s right there and I c-can’t touch it or make it work. I don’t know what it does or if it does anything bar… this. ”

She took his outstretched hand and waited for it, that song strumming between their veins neither can fully hear. Trying to explain, trying to communicate but language broken and voice backwards - inside out. Nothing and everything crashing together in a wave of cosmic frustration both twins felt viscerally.

He pulled away, grimacing in disgust as he shook his hand slowly, trying to fan that grotesque sensation out of his fingertips.

“F-fucking hate when that happens, it’s like feedback, a power surge or something. Feel like it’s going to blow my skull out… man. Is that really all I’ve got? Eating your energy and.. and.. blowing fuses inside my brain when we touch? That’s it Ty? God… I wish I could just give it back…”

He’d whispered the last part but she’d heard clear enough despite her teeth chattering through nerves still firing from the blast of sensation a moment ago. He wishes he could give it back…? If he was anyone else she’d have ripped him apart to drag it out of his entrails by now. The wave of anger that blossomed at that statement dulled slowly into the back of her mind as a possibility arose, a question she’d forgotten about for so long.

“Maybe” Tyreen whispered, turning to face his side.

“…maybe you can try _giving it back_.”

He looked like he’d just been shot, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock as he whipped to look at her.

“ _What_? Will that work?”

She rubbed the tips of her fingers against her thumb, glancing to the fire in front of them, the memory of passing a tiny hand through flame.

“I don’t know, Troy. But we could _try_.”

He grabbed her hand before she could react, screwing his eyes shut as he _pushed_.

Something happened, she felt winded for just a second, something _moved_ inside her chest and she gripped his hand tighter, grabbing his wrist with her right and squeezing as she focused and _pulled_.

The screeching wail filled both their minds like warning sirens, voices over voices in octaves that pitched madly, and the twins grimaced in pain as he opened everything inside him and she desperately tried to drag it _outwards_ , but nothing happened.

**Nothing.**

He gasped out a pained breath as he pulled his hand away and started to cry, crackly voice-breaking whines that fell into desperate sobs as she wrapped her arms around him and shushed into the black of his hair.

“Its ok Troy, we’ll be ok.”

* * *

The third time they were 26, and he had her pinned against the wall of her personal ship, monstrous prosthetic claws digging into the hull panel beside her head.

She scratched blindly at his forearm as it pressured against her chest, spitting venom at him as he roared in her face to stop LYING TO HIM ALL THE TIME.

That he knew what she’d been doing, the same thing she always did when she thought anyone else was threatening how much time he gave her. That his friends DID like him, they did, they weren’t feigning caring about him, they weren’t manipulating him to get something, they **weren’t**.

That she was wrong, as she kicked against his shins and snarled up into the rage in his face, that she just didn’t get it, because what the fuck would _SHE_ know about _KINDNESS???_

Her fingernails bit into the muscle of his forearm as she leeched him, the thing inside her screaming at her mind to _punish him_ , to show him who had the real power in their rivalry. To make him _beg_ for forgiveness.

She pulled with such force, such intense fury, that his words were drowned out by the swell of blood in her ears… and nothing happened.

 **Nothing**.

She hated him so intensely, hated what he’d taken from her, that she didn’t stop the crushing effort of the pull against his immovable barrier till she felt a vessel in her eye burst, and he choked, stepping away from her in shock.

She panted against the wall, palms burning as he whispered in apology. As her twin stuttered that he was _sorry,_ while blood from the nail punctures dribbled down his forearm. That it was an accident and he didn’t know he was pushing against her _that_ hard, that he hadn’t meant to hurt her.. as he asked if _she was ok._

Tyreen slapped him so hard that she heard a crunch.

* * *

The fourth time they were 29, and he was renouncing her.

It was in desperation as she felt it flow into him so effortlessly that it was almost like it _wanted_ to escape her soul, dragging ice from her fingertips through her spine as he leeched her power from the tomb of her core. A final, _sad_ attempt to defy Troy, to pull back feebly against that _wall_ of his inner self as she realised in panic that there was no one left to stop him.

That no devout was coming to help their Queen, all rallied under _his_ banner now.

That no loyalty remained to the Vault Mother, and _she’d_ been the architect of her own fall from grace. That Tyreen had destroyed the goddess she built from scratch… and as she began to lose consciousness, there was a flutter at the back of her mind that was _so glad_ there would be **nothing** of Calypso left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	70. Psychos and bandits (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

## Bandits are to Psychos as wolves are to predators. They are part of the same overall culture on Pandora, but Psychos? Psychos don’t _just_ come from Bandits.

* * *

* * *

Bandits are the roaming clans of wasteland survivors that prey on corporate settlements across the wilds of the dust-planes. They are abandoned workers like the raging ghosts of Dahl’s hidden past, failed settlers deserted on a vicious planet by their patrons who’ve realised you either play by Pandora’s rules or die trying, and natives who were born within the Bandit tribes and now pass their culture to newfound family. 

They have laws that mean life or death, and they follow their spoken rules with savage reverence. There are clan leaders and figureheads, you’re as likely to come across a Bandit trade mogul as a skull collector. They can be reasoned with as long as you speak their language and understand their ways, and most merchant ports across the docklands have stations there are unwritten whispers about - that you don’t setup stalls there, those docks are for the _ones with no names._

Psychos are something else altogether. Psychos seek out Bandit clans naturally, like they are drawn to the possibility of belonging. They don’t _really_ belong though, they don’t **belong** anywhere.

Pandora has a reputation across the border planets as being where the mad congregate, like the planet itself will rot your mind over time, leave you a babbling wreck that carves crude eyes into its chest and eats through its own limbs while shrieking about the _hunger_ and the _song_ , but it’s not actually **Pandora** that’s at fault.

It wasn’t Pandora that commercialised Eridium, it wasn’t Pandora that brought tens of thousands of people to try and eke out an existence on it while carving crystallised energy out of its rocky crust, and it wasn’t Pandora that drove its inhabitants mad 29 years before BL3. 

That was.. something else. When **~~[Redacted]~~** tore through the minds of the people too close to Eridium, too vulnerable to the song that vibrates through its structure that before had been so _silent_ , it warped their minds into what was after termed the “ _Psychosis_ ”, the great maddening of Pandora’s civilians. Psychos are doctors, farmers, technicians and housewives. Psychos are bandits born and warped over time, townsfolk who walked too far along abandoned trails that were warned about _for reasons_ , corporate shills and lost children. They are everyone.

It never stopped, and rumors still abound that being too close to Eridium is the trigger, that taking a job in a Slag refinery is practically a death sentence. 

The people who lose their sanity to the incessant whispering and scratching at the back of their minds end up seeking out others who understand them, their urge to find belonging drives them instinctively to each other, and so they congregate together around Bandit camps. They may become part of the roving caravans eventually, but they never _truly_ become part of the clan. Bandits are closer to the Psychos than any other denizens of Pandora, but even they hold them at arm’s length, even they know to keep their distance from the muttered frenzy that drives the mad ones.

When the twins began to form the COV, they were rejected straight away by the Bandits and shanty villages they approached. And I mean _rejected_. We’re talking laughed out of town at the best, and at the worst…

Well, Ty got her scars in that first week, and Troy? He doesn’t remember what happened really, just the tearing smash of the glass bottle slicing across Tyreen’s face, a scream, and then _nothing_.

Nothing, till he woke into a fever hours later, one that turned septic as he ranted and choked about how even though he closed his eyes, _he could still **see**._

When they tried again in earnest after spending 6 months with Seifa, it didn’t escape either of their notice that while they had to really work for the loyalty of Bandits and townsfolk, the freaks that scratched symbols into the dirt outside the camps while screeching incoherent nonsense seemed to just come to them on their own.

There was no real effort involved, all the Psychos needed was a flash of Siren markings and a promise of _family_ and they followed at the twin’s heels like packs of yelping Skags covered in body fluids and neon paint. The twins never really discussed this - Tyreen uninterested in challenging her own opinions about her social magnetism and Troy uncomfortable with the taste his inklings on the subject left in his mouth, but _Psychos are drawn to Sirens_. They always have been, they flock to them like pious worshipers half terrified and half in love with the beings they chant about as _ghost mothers_ , _vault touched_ , the voices of _the song_ …

They eagerly weave Sirens into their own beliefs, they worship them without prompt, and so Psychos became the backbone of the initial COV.

They were never respected, though.

As it grew, the Holy City opened its doors to all. Except them.

The twin’s distaste for them is palpable, Troy’s more than Tyreen’s who suffocates it under layers of sickly sweet reassurances that they are _family_. That they have belonging here, that they are loved by her. They don’t and they aren’t. If anything, the COV views them as literal meat shields - living walls that cushion the casualties of their actual followers by taking bullets in their stead.

The Psychos live outside the city, in shacks and crudely constructed shelter towers. Far enough from the Grand Cathedral at the city’s center that the twins don’t have to deal with hearing the shrieking raucous of the sprawl that grows outside the gates daily and robs slum dwellers of decent sleep.

The city itself is filled with Bandits, traders, drug cartels run by shrewd matriarchs covered in clan symbols inked into their skin, gangs in blood feuds, but the Psychos are forgotten till a raid siren cuts across the city scape and the faithful are called to arms. The Psychos don’t matter till they can stand in front of the Twin God’s chosen and die in glory through a hail of bullets.

Tyreen laughs when they are brought up, jokingly calls them her “favourite little snacks” through a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes and shows far too many teeth.

Troy though, he shudders in confused disgust at the thought of their desperate fingers reaching to glance in worship across the warmth of his skin as he passes with a retinue. He’s strangely invested in pushing provisions budgeting to the Holy City’s slums, and rumors are that the Vanguard are instructed to turn a blind eye when food is passed through the gates into eager hands at night.

Bandits have places of importance within the COV, from Saints like Jak-Knife and Mouthpiece, to old war-hands with roles of General within the assault ranks or highly respected traders in the marketing district of the city. Bandits have a life within the cult, they have real belonging and are seen as having some form of value even by the Twin Gods, and the Calypsos barely see most other people as _people_.

But the Psychos are just bullet sponges, expendable assets that happily march to death in the name of a mother who lies so convincingly about her love for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	71. Man or monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

> “Troy? Oh he’s useless. Hahaha, _mannn_ you’ve no idea. I mean, I play along! Twin Gods, Siren siblings, _blah blah blah_. Yuck. He’s clever though, I’ll give him that. We wouldn’t be where we are now if he hadn’t… heh. _Lived_.”
> 
> “But _I_ carried us. _Me_ , I’m the _God-Queen_. **I’m** the _Siren_ , understand? He can’t do jack shit, just - _fzzt pffbt-_ sparks and passes out sometimes, you ever see that in a raidstream? _Hi-lar-i-ous_!!”
> 
> “Goddddd, it’s even funnier those couple of times he’s short circuited and gone all weird and twitchy while the cameras are rolling - has to be dragged back to the Holy City by his vanguard after it happens and they’ve, you know, cleaned the _gore_ off him. Now _that_ shit hits the viewer count, he could do with pulling his weight and putting on that lil’ show more often. Not that he _will_ though… and you know _why_ , riiiiight Superfan? Mmhmm! Cause he’s a useless **freak** , just like I _said_.”

**\- God-Queen Tyreen  
  
** ****

* * *

It’s very, very, _very_ rare that Troy actually triggers his Siren power for a _lot_ of reasons. It’s not something that happens with the few he’s close with, I don’t think he could _ever_ snap at any at them at the aggression level it would take to cross into that rage. Even if one of them tried to **kill** him, he’d still have in the back of his head somewhere that it was actually _his_ fault, not theirs, and his response would be pulled punches, but the _threat_ of what he can do when he does manage to tap into his half of **The Leech** is always looming overhead.

Troy has two levels of Siren power activation:

The first is when he’s so emotionally worked up through fear, anger or protectiveness that **The Leech** flutters into functionality, and he gets a massive pulse of power.

  * Before the spinal implant, that meant a flash of markings, the flickering of his wings shifting into form, and then him almost immediately short circuiting and collapsing into a seizure moments after. The energy would just loop inside him… he had no way to vent it outwards so it would cause a crash and shut him down. _Windows startup noise_. Soft reset. Gone.
  * After the implant, it’s when his markings flash and the spines of the rig along his back raise to vent the red energy crackles. It’s the “I’m about to snap, think your next move through _carefully_ ” visual warning. He’s generally exhausted after though, migraines, chemical depression for hours, severe nausea, it fucks him up.



  
The second is when he goes _**Berserk**_.

  * This only happened once pre-implant, and no one’s alive who saw it bar Tyreen. He doesn’t really remember it in honesty, the whole thing is a blur of smashing glass and screaming, then the fever that came after. He nearly died. If Ty hadn’t through pure luck ran into the right person at the right time while looking for help… It’s a fight or flight response, it’s life or death. _Survival mode_. His broken, subdued half of **The Leech** pumps every spark of energy it has in his desperately small stores outwards into him, and that’s the only time the reality of what Troy _is_ becomes clear.
  * He shifts into _something else_. Blanks out as he begins to crackle and pulse with energy, shivers and twitches on the spot like his spine is being crushed in the grip of something the naked eye can’t understand, and then he’s gone. Troy’s warped, twisted wings project and the span of bulbous eyes along his fully formed one slide open, he drips with red static in bloody lines of luminous energy that puddle and hiss on the ground beneath him as they splatter against it, and he **screams**. He makes a sound that leaves even his Vanguard clutching at their ears in burning pain, like nails on a chalk board mixed with the synth-boosted screeches of thousands _._ Siren song isn’t meant to be comprehend, yet alone **_heard_** by humans.



He’s done it twice throughout the COV era, both during raids, both interestingly enough when kids had been involved in the harm the heretics he was slaughtering had caused. It’s drawn _quite a few extra_ digits on the viewer-count each time it happened. Trended “ _God-King Calypso_ ” for months after.

It’s all very impressive, it’s all verrrrrry _frightening_ , but then again, the stream cuts before it shows Jak-Knife kneeling beside a collapsed God, gently trying to clear Troy’s airways with shaky hands while he’s unconscious and choking on vomit afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	72. If only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

Troy had remained irritatingly silent, watching knowingly as his sister’s upbeat attitude and insistence it was going to work out had flagged over time as days twisted into nights, then clumped pathetically into weeks, and every step forward they made felt like being slapped three steps **back**.

The day she stopped arguing that this _hadn’t been a mistake_ was just hours before she crawled to his sleeping mat in the pitch dark, sobbing.

He was furious. Of course he was. He’d _told_ her how stupid an idea this was so many times that he’d stopped even caring enough to do more than roll his eyes when her chirpy bullshit would pick up after yet another embarrassment they’d both cringe away from, but he couldn’t gloat about it now. Felt wrong to rub in how wrong she’d been, not when she was so tired and broken… so _sorry_ for everything. 

Ty cried against his chest and whispered through hitched breaths that she didn’t want this anymore. That she hated the power inside her and what it did to the back of her mind, how it made her feel. How it had _told_ her to come here and she should have listened to him instead. How she just wanted it all to be over…

The memory of that night years before when she’d failed to take from him shot between them like a spark.

Maybe.

Maybe **he** could.

If Tyreen didn’t have to hold it anymore, if she wasn’t stuck with this rot festering through her bones and sucking the parts of who she was away as it glutted itself on her being, then she could be free and _he_ could go _home_.

It had been _her_ that grabbed his hand.

* * *

They said goodbye after a month of odd jobs that paid for the parts he needed to repair their ship, and Ty shook her head with a sad smile as he asked _one last time_ for her to come with him.

Nah. She couldn’t. He understood why, right?

He did. He always would.

One final, rib-crushing hug filled with a thousand unspoken promises that lifted her off the ground as he swayed them both gently, and then she watched through shielded eyes as the white fire of the engines faded into Pandora’s blazing sky. Troy was gone, and he’d taken the weight that had been burdening her soul since childhood with him.

Life was Tyreen’s now, _she’d live it her way_.

* * *

And she did for a few years. Not happily all the time, that’s not possible on Pandora, but she _lived_. Ty ended up part of the raiders of course, Helios had fallen and it seemed like the right group to find a place in. They were managing to do _good_ for people while on a shithole like this planet, and there were… there were Sirens there.

She had gone deaf to the call of Eridium the night she let Troy rejoin The Leech and silence the endless song that crawled up her spine, but she still _felt_ other Sirens, somewhere deep in her gut. She still gravitated to them, and despite wariness of her frankly unbelievable story, Amara, Lilith, and Maya recognised the filigree lines that swirled under her skin - desaturated silvery-white just below its rich brown.

She wasn’t one, but she **was** , and another sister would always be welcome.

Ty was 5 years on Pandora when she’d been woken by frantic pounding on her quarter’s door, Maya’s little shit of an apprentice screeching something about a new Siren? _Adel_? A DeLe…

She’d scrabbled barely dressed and out of her room, racing across the cold sheet flooring and knocking crew members out of the way in her sprint to the bridge as her heart pounded and jumped in her chest. The blast doors slid open _just_ in time to catch Lilith stopping mid conversation with the projector screen, and she’d turned to throw Ty a knowing grin.

She heard Typhon’s croaky laugh before Troy’s gleaming red markings filled the massive holo viewer, and the sob she’d been holding through shaking ribs burst out of her in _happiness._

“Tyreen! Long time n-no _see_.”

** Life was theirs, and they lived it that way. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	73. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

****

**Audio log begins:**

- _static_ -

 **Female voice :** “ - not her anymore, I swear, I remember what she was like, Troy - ”

 **Male voice** **:** “I know… ”

 **F** **:** “ - and that’s not her, there’s nothing even behind her eyes anymore it’s like - ”

 **M** : “I _know_.”

 **F** **:** “ - looking into a shark’s pupils, or oil, or something _dead_. God I. I’m scared to be here at all.”

 **M** **:** “Seifa… ”

 **F** **:** “I wouldn’t… Troy, I wouldn’t change coming back, ok? I wouldn’t change _us,_ but she’s, she’s frightening me, what she did to Ven? She looks at JK like she’s just _waiting_ for an opportunity. She looks at me like, like _I’m.._.”

 **M** **:** “Sei… oh Sei, don’t. Hold on.”

(footsteps \- shuffling)

 **M** **:** “Shhh. It’s ok, I’m so sorry. I’m so s- _sorry_.”

( _silence_ )

**M** **:** “It’s going to be ok. I have it under control. I know it d-doesn’t feel that way right now but I do. I _promise_.”

( _sniffling_ )

**M** **:** “I have to keep trying with her, I can’t give up yet. I gotta try till there’s nothing left I can still fuckin’ _see_ as Tyreen, I got to. But it’s _all going to be alright_ , I have it planned. Shhh. It’s ok, Sei. _You’re_ ok. She’s n-not going to hurt any of you again… I **swear**.”

 **F** **:** “Ven d-didn’t deserve that, he didn’t even do anythin’ he was j-just _there_ and she, she - ”

_( hitched breathing_ \- _a choked sob_ _)_

**M** **:** “I know. Ven’s my fault. Ven’s on me, and I’ll carry that till I’m _dust_. Ah man… ( _a sigh_) It’s ok, sweetheart. Shhh. It’s ok, my Seifa.”

( _muffled hushes_ )

 **M** **:** “You’ll all be safe. _I’m going to k-keep you all safe_ , understand?”

( _softer sniffling_ _-_ _a deep_ _chuckle_ _)_

 **M** **:** “ _Stay_ _with_ _me_ tonight, ok? Heh… you wouldn’t want anyone seeing ya right now anyway, got eyeliner down to your chin, look like a trainwre - _Hey, OW!_ ”

_( gentle laughter)_

_- static-_

**Log ends.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	74. She knows who he really is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

__

_In response to[ this post](https://border-spam.tumblr.com/post/623177200659808256/border-spam-everything-and-far-sooner-than)_

## Oh, **CONSTANTLY**.

* * *

* * *

Troy is someone in a _major_ position of power who fronts an egotistical, confident façade that he often loses control of.

Sei is someone who keeps a mental list of _cute reminders_ she can use in banter with friends, and who really doesn’t react well to being undermined or devalued.

Her being his subordinate is an absolute powder keg, and while they are both _pretty good_ at not breaking the chain of command in public, in private they can be snappy assholes to each other if anything gets heated.

The God King is an intimidating, dangerous being to mouth back to, but Sei _knows_ the man under it. She’s been there and seen the reality of who’s controlling this monstrous puppet, and she _never_ lets him forget that fact, even if it’s going to cause a complete meltdown argument between them. She’s far too stubborn and _far_ too hard headed to keep her mouth shut if she feels slighted, even though she knows she pushes him a lot further than she really should at times.

Troy is the more level headed one and unless he’s already in a horrific mood, is far more likely to bite his tongue and let her rant. He _knows_ he’s the one in power out of the two, and he knows that fact can desperately insult her without her realising _that’s_ what she’s upset about. He gets it, really. It’s not that _he’s_ the focus of her displeasure, the situation itself goes against _years_ of what Seifa had to build her survival around, and he rarely lashes back if she’s just in rough mood and not up for:

> “Dealing with _his majesty’s demands_ right now.”

While Troy’s reminders to her about where she _actually_ stands outside of their friendship are based on logic but still cut _very_ deep, she puts him in _his_ place by bringing up the past.

> “I’m not _forgetting_ who you are, God King, you’re the kid who’s fever puke I had to scrub out of my floor panels twice, _by hand_ … right?”

or:

> “Troy, I appreciate you’ve half a billion people ready to jump your dick at the slightest opportunity, but it’d be great if you’d _tone down_ the fuckboi act just a _bit_ when we need to get work done. Saw enough of your scrawny ass that time I had to drag you out of the shower when you collapsed hacking your lungs up, remember? I know what I’m _not missing out on_. ”

She does it mostly to ground him though, not to hurt. Deep down he _knows_ he’s not being insulted, he can take it from her. It’s to remind him he’s human, and that someone remembers the man hiding under the metal.

She’d never talk about any of their past publicly, it’s not hers to share and it would really, really hurt him, but letting slip that:

> “Big man Calypso here couldn’t LOOK at me for near a month, let alone get the balls to talk to me. Thank God they’ve _finally dropped_ , eh Troy. ”

to close friends in his quarters on a poker night together?

Well. Not her fault he can’t look at Ven or JK after without blushing a shade of deep red you’d not expect from a deity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	75. Hatred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Troy**

He cannot fucking _stand_ the makeup and costume team.

Can’t.

He sits quietly with so much rage boiling in his abdomen as they scurry around him that he’s started needing to remove the prosthetic for most pre-stream prep sessions

He told them it’s so they could maneuverer easier, that he was sick of them catching on the sharp edges and jostling him as he’d wait in silence for an hour while they worked his face and body, but it’s _really_ because of how many times he’s splintered an armrest or come far too close to just grabbing one of them when they won’t.. shut.. **up**.

He hates himself for it more than anything because he knows damn well they aren’t actually doing anything wrong. He used to do all his own makeup, all his own costume prep, but as years passed and his attention and time had to be stretched further across more responsibilities and daily tasks, Tyreen insisted they give up on running their own prep sessions and leave it to a group with more skill and _far_ more efficiency than a man with one arm..

She was right. There is no argument, she was right, but _God_ he wishes he’d never have to fucking see any of these people again instead of having to endure them daily, controlling his breathing while they swarm about like insects, applying accessories and fixing _problems with how he looks._

They have to talk to each other, of course they do, how else can they do this job, but what they talk about? He **hates i** t.

  * “No, go up a shade, his undereye is darker than yesterday.”
  * “Need a green tone to cover the bruising, A-410m, no *dab* it on, don’t smear, his skin’s not great today”
  * “These need to come in another inch they’re barely staying up, call in tailoring.”
  * “Define the bridge harsher, yeah, makes him actually look masculine, stops the eyes looking as sunken too.”
  * “This isn’t working - it’s just drawing attention to how flat this pec is, do we have any contouring shades we can lift the definition with? He’s not balanced, right side’s smaller.”



He _loathes them_ , and they have _no_ idea how close they come every day to finding out exactly how much.

* * *

##  **  
Tyreen**

There are exceptionally few in Tyreen’s sphere of influence who can say no to her. Her followers absolutely do not. The sponsors, the business people, the grovelling off-planet mayors and politicians who travel to the Holy City to beg for her ear certainly don’t either. **Troy**? Rarely, and she can usually muddle him enough afterwards with crocodile tears and gestures of care to get what she wants even when he denies her at first, but his Saints?

Some of his Saints… she wants to eat alive.

Ur-Aurum is the worst by far. He’s _impenetrable_. Has been for near a decade, ever since they handed over their first $5k to him in his citrus scented dust-free luxury office on Promethea. She’s not sure she’s ever seen the little man _look_ intimidated yet alone act it. A stony-faced, immaculately dressed and groomed business mogul who sacrificed any spark of joy he was born with for hard logic a _long_ time ago, and who has no problem telling God Queen Calypso, Holy Mother of the Vault… **no**.

He’s told her no more than any living person has, including her _father_. Threats don’t work and never have, he’s never so much raised an eyebrow at what she does to people in his presence. Manipulation doesn’t work because for all her skill, he is so much _smarter_ than she will ever be and he damn well knows it. He’s untouchable, Solomon runs _all_ of finance at her stupid fucking brother’s decision, and reports to _him_ , not her. He has no family, he has no friends, he’s a self-contained fortress of a man she can only scream frustrations at when she’s denied, when he shoots down a request for budgeting or vetos a new project she wants to push.

She’s disarmed around him, powerless because of this horrible little gremlin, this weakling half her size and weight, and she _hates_ him for it. Loathes him for being so strong without needing to hurt anyone, so dominating without saying a word. Solomon _commands_ respect without a gun or threat or nightmarish cosmic power..

He’s stronger than her. She hates him.

* * *

##  **  
Seifa**

**– Ur-Machina:// - Mechanica Dept - Internal Com –**

U-M : Update immediately - why was 100Ur0B-na blocked with your sign off? That shipment was cleared through lead meetings, it was meant to touch dock 3 hours ago and we’re only finding out it was cancelled now. No comms?-

 **U-V :** No need for comms, Saint permission levels are equal, we don’t **need** to send your side updates for every decision made here, remember? Calm down, from what I hear things are stressy enough down in your waste pit without you embarrassing yourself in front of your poor crew by throwing one of your little tantrums.-

U-M : Xan that’s very interesting, really. So you without any warning whatsoever cancelled a high-security order that’s going to end up causing a major project disruption, and you did this with who’s authority? You need to go through Sol to redirect funding and you’ve left a _hell_ of a messy paper trail here, very easy to follow… did he ok the budget for this new marketing venture?-

 **U-V** : None of your concern, junker. The Holy Father clearly doesn’t keep a tight enough grip on your kind’s leashes if you don’t know your place yet. Necessary channels and processes were followed. We’re airtight, you can stop wringing your greasy hands together and put them to some use for once, do some actual **work** that doesn’t involve spreading your legs for a change.-

U-M : Sorry Xan, some of that com text was garbled or something, shame! You should have your techs check out the connection on Marketing’s side. Pinged Sol by the way! He’s surprised, never heard of this request? I’d expect a call shortly. Honestly, considering who’s shipment that was, I’m pretty shocked myself. Maybe I could send you some of my crew over some time, give your team a hand with double-checking data before you dig your own grave in the future!-

> //File attached: 100Ur0B-na: Sec code **GKT** -Personal order- High prio

**U-V :** We’ll have this resolved shortly, thank you for your time.-

U-M : Always got time for **you** , hun.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	76. Jak-Knife (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

JK belongs to / is written by / designed by [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw)

> “That Bandit’s a _ghostwalker_ , my God-King. You don’t want ‘em here, trust me. Sometimes dead clans leave corpses behind that aren’t straight in the head enough to know that’s what they are… Crawl across the plains looking for somewhere else to belong, looking for a new family clan ‘cause all that’s left of theirs are Rakk picked bones. Seen plenty over the years, and they trail bad luck behind ‘em like a disease. That one’s marked like a Hellion, those got slag-burned into the ground by Atlas back in Old Haven. Your majesties weren’t here when that happened, but **we** were, and **I** remember. Leave them to me, the scout teams always need fresh meat for replacements.

> They won’t stay alive long enough to be a concern.”

\- _Mouthpiece_

* * *

Whether death follows JK or they sprint after it in pursuit is something they’ve never _really_ been sure of. It could be either - some great predator snapping at their heels while they grew up in a Bandit clan that wasn’t kind to the small and gentle, or a force they are drawn to effortlessly like the migratory animals that follow Pandora’s monsoon seasons.

Could be either.

Could be _both_.

Same outcome they figure, so why would it **matter**.

They’d been a kid when it happened, well, a kid to anyone _not_ a Bandit. In that life 16 years old is more than enough to run with a raid party, adult enough to work yourself to the bone, to show you can earn your keep when your brother is “useless” and you’ve got to be worth 2 bellies of food or watch as one of you goes hungry. Jak-Knife and Gutpunch, one a runt squinting up from under a stolen warrior’s mask crafted for someone twice their size, the other a gentle giant born into a life that no aspect of their soul suited. They’d protected him, them with their little body and dull pocketknife versus the sometimes cruelty of a clan who’s survival was based around only the fittest, only the _strong_ staying part of it.

Not evil, just living as was needed. Pandora is harsh, there is no room for softness if you want to stay alive on her rocky flats, that’s just the way things are. Nature isn’t cruel, it simply **is.**

They were 16 when the Lance came.

16 years they’d lasted in the Hellions, till the day the gates of Old Haven had been opened for the Crimson Lance’s money carriers. They’d _done_ their job, they’d cleared the town at the request of the white Siren, been promised a home for the clan, a place to belong, and in the end, their payment came in bullets sprayed from Atlas gun barrels.

By the time JK had woken up and tried to heave Gutpunch’s corpse off their back from where he’d shielded them, it had been two days. Groggy and confused, they’d panicked, desperately trying to scrabble out from under his bulk as the remaining Lance stopped piling bodies to burn and ran towards the sound of gunfire outside the gates.

Vault Hunters. _Worse_ than the lance.

They couldn’t take him with them, he couldn’t move now, but they couldn’t leave him like this, not a brother. Not when he was all they had who’d _understood_ when they’d try and explain why their meat was wrong, how the flesh didn’t sit right, when he was who would help them tighten rags around their chest and listen as they ground their overly developed canines and growled to the stars at night when it got too heavy to bear. They couldn’t leave him behind after a life together, so they took his mask. Scrabbled at the bindings and peeled the effigy from what was left of his head. They realised as it separated from flesh that it had been all that was holding the remnants of skull together… but this was his face. The meat under it was Gutpunch, but the _mask_ … they’d wear it now. He’d still be with them.

Jak-Knife had ran from the massacre of Old Haven on shaky legs, ducking as bullets whistled through the air around them as Crimson Lance and Vault Hunters traded fire in panicked waves. No hits, not directly, but a spray of Slag from a barrel ruptured by a narrow miss had sliced across their right, thick and acrid in the air as it burned through skin and into muscle. There had been no time to feel the pain, no time to stop, JK had run till their feet bled and the weight of Pandora’s inky night blanketed them in exhaustion they couldn’t fight any longer.

They’d started to stumble forward once they stirred in the morning. Like Mouthpiece said, a ghostwalker. No clan, no brother, no belonging. They walked and didn’t stop for a long time.

Walked to New Haven, to the walls outside the town and a woman with her own terribly scarred face masking a heart softer than others would guess. Not a home there, not _really_ , but allowed stay. A kid is a kid, even when wearing the blood-streaked mask of a Bandit. She couldn’t turn them away.

They were 18 when Hyperion came.

Ran again amidst the screams to do so, ran into the wastes of Pandora and a world that made more sense to them than the town being torn apart behind them. Missed her though, Pierce. She’d been kind. A lot of those people had been kind, and now they were dead. Hyperion, Atlas, same thing. Just monsters lead _by_ monsters.

They’d walked to the Slabs, to a jovial King who mocked their size with a tone that both bristled their muscle and left them feeling… welcome. Not a home there either, not _really_ , but there had been jobs to run and food to earn. They’d been allowed stay, and so they did. Stil a Hellion though, still Slag-burned and covered in their clan’s flame emblems and splashes of neon across their gear…. still wearing Gutpunch’s blood coated mask.

The Slab king had heaved himself into their cramped sleeping quarters one night and whispered that there was a funeral for her soon, Pierce. They could go if they wanted, he’d whispered from under that massive helm. Told them with a gentleness they’d never heard before that he understood loss, having things you loved taken away from you for _no reason_ bar cruelty. That he _remembered_ Old Haven and wished he didn’t. That they _should_ go. They’d be welcome there.

So JK had walked again, out of Thousand Cut’s Slab fortress and to a somber funeral in the icy fields of Three horns that was filled with Crimson Raiders - a mix of Vault Hunters and ex Lance, and stood in memorial amidst people that made the blood under their skin _burn_ , all to show the respect she’d earned to a woman who’d treated them like a human.

A merc now they figured, easier than being a wanderer and Sanctuary _needed_ mercs. Found themselves in the bar some nights, wary eyes glaring from mismatched lenses as they sat silently at corner tables while watching the rest of the loud patrons, back against a wall and a clear exit always planned.

She’d noticed. She _liked_ big ‘n mysterious. _Liked_ how her flirtations rolled off them and were replied to with genuine questions about _her_. Quiet, gentle-voiced comments about the drinks, how well she played her marks, how _clever_ that gunbelt around her thigh was positioned for quick access if she needed to control a situation with more than just her looks.

Moxx _liked_ this one, and a friendship slowly bloomed into something beautiful.

It had been her who had put their name forward when the leaders of the Raiders had become concerned over the darkness slowly seeping across Pandora’s horizon, of the bizarre war cries of fanatics leading raids on smaller Bandit camps and shanty towns…

The “Children of the Vault” was a name being passed through hushed whispers in slums and rot-dives, and Lilith had rolled “Calypso” across her tongue enough times when reading scout reports to know the taste it was leaving behind wasn’t anything _good_. They wanted an in, and what better spy to infiltrate a Bandit cult than a **Bandit**. Someone who understood clan hierarchy, who could report back in words she could understand from a viewpoint she could never see.

JK had been… wary. To say the least. The Raiders weren’t friends, they’d filled their ranks with ex Crimson Lance like they _hadn’t_ committed atrocities, they mowed down Pandora’s natives like mad Skags who needed extermination, and Krieg…

They all knew of Krieg. Everyone had seen how he’d been really treated. JK certainly had, but they also knew Krieg had been one foot into the great hunger, that he’d been so _close_ to the flood that he’d spoken in half Psycho-cant and half Bandit, and tore at his skin to sate the itch of the song that the mad ones screamed about. That the raiders would let him burn alive in a fury if it meant a successful mission, and they couldn’t help but wonder how _respected_ he’d really been. Some kind of mix between respect and pity they figured, mocked behind his back as “Just another Psycho”, someone who got the job done even if he limped back covered in blood and bullet holes, but was whispered about as needing to be _watched_.

 _He_ had been called a Raider, and yet - masks like his and JKs covered the command room’s wall like trophies. Murderers of their clans walked Sanctuaries halls and narrowed untrusting eyes even at Krieg’s hulking silhouette as he passed. It wasn’t right, and JK struggled to feel as welcome as the others insisted they were now that they had a _use_.

But they’d taken the job, because Moxxi said they should and Moxxi was clever, Moxxi cared about them and wanted to see them be happy, so they’d agreed. She had whispered in an accent they’d learned from long nights in her company was for _real_ things and not her act, that this would help people, that the COV was worrying _her_ more than she was concerned about getting intel to Lilith, and they’d nodded in agreement.

Bandits don’t congregate, Bandits don’t merge clans under one banner… they wanted to know what this beast clawing into Pandora’s soil was capable of. They’d heard the rumours like everyone else, twin Sirens apparently. Bullshit, everyone knew Sirens were women and there were only 6. Jack had hammered that information through Bandit clans and across Pandora’s E-Com network clear enough. These were obviously frauds using trickery to control those eager to believe, wouldn’t be the first time a Siren cult had used Bandit clans as a personal army, and JK had felt roiling disgust at the realisation what they were agreeing to do for Lilith? Just another shade of the exact same thing.

Funny, wasn’t it. Very funny.

So they’d walked out of Sanctuary and towards the hub of the birthing COV.

They’d been 20 when they had first seen a _real_ God.

The Holy City didn’t exist yet, just a pile of rickety buildings thrown up by worshippers that surrounded an old Dahl fortress bleaching slowly in Pandora’s sun. They called it “The Cathedral”, but it looked like the crumbling bones of some great dead thing jutting from the red sands like a cracked skull. Maybe those were the same thing, JK had thought. A cathedral, and a beast of the flood. Both seemed like something that should be worshipped to them. They liked this place.

Neon paint and rusty metal spines were everywhere among the shantytown, raucous laughter cut through the clang of metal, and the air itself was heavy with an unmistakable stink of unwashed bodies and leather. They felt it so quickly as they’d crunched through the dirt paths that split the weaving rows of scrapped together tents, making their way to the recruitment line. A fleeting tickle of a sensation that hadn’t filled their belly in so long. That this was like…

 _home_.

The twins themselves were cagey and difficult to pull usable intel about. They gave sermons from the crumbling balconies of the fortress to the swathes of screaming acolytes below, too far for JK to get a clear eye on them but _dressed_ like Sirens at least. Swirling loops of pacifying blue along the woman, and the _man_ … jagged lines and curved whorls of a vicious red they’d never seen on any living or dead Witch. He was off. That one was wrong, and his sister made her agreement on that clear enough in how she acted next to him. She was the star, she was in the limelight, and he was relegated to a place behind her when she spoke to her worshippers and basked in their screeched worship. Odd for a “God-King” to be left in shadows, they’d thought.

Odd indeed.

They reported back to Lilith in Sanctuary whenever the opportunity arose to leave the growing “City”, cult movement, basic info on what they could see as a blossoming threat to raiders, and it was always met with sneers of disgust and pity. Monsters, she’d sighed. Just using the bandits as fodder. JK’s eyes flicked to the masks decorating the trophy wall behind her.

“Whatever you say, commander”.

Mouthpiece had kept his word. Fully aware of what had happened to JK’s clan and uncomfortable with seeing something he believed to be a _walking curse_ among the COV’s war parties, he’d purposefully sent them on suicide runs with some of the less physically capable recruits. “Trial by fire” he saw it as, simple logic when it came to survival on Pandora. Let the weak earn their place - if they die, they die. That’s the law of the land, and losing the soft only leaves the clan stronger. Except, JK’ scout parties just _kept coming back_. It had seemed almost a fluke the first couple of times, scouts didn’t last long after all, but as it repeated again, and again, Mouthpiece and higher members of the raid parties began to notice.

A combination of Hellion war training and their years of working side by side with their brother had left an understanding of why having others watch your back was more beneficial than only caring about your _own_ neck, especially when you weren’t as big as the next guy. JK was a survivor, they’d never been willing to lay down and die so the rest of the clan could be down a “weak link”, and their knife-edge instincts merged with a _care_ for the other scouts not usually seen amongst Bandits meant they were teaching the team. Unifying them as a group who responded to signal whistles, barked cant, warcries that triggered defence formations and eyes on flanks. They were _leading_ without being called a leader, and as that first year slowly ticked by, they were being noticed.

Sharp eyes that scrutinised numbers and statistics were watching the growing ratio of successful raids to lost bodies from the recessed shadows of the looming Cathedral while Jak-Knife trained and barked orders at recruits in the garrison that sprawled in the white hot sunlight below, and eventually, the day came where the God-King _knew their name_.

They’d stood shoulder to shoulder with their boys as they lined facing the burning light at Mouthpiece’s demand. The mask lenses had done barely anything to block out Pandora’s vicious sun as he’d approached, and they’d shuddered at the warchief’s hissed warning to show _due respect_ , or die where they stood. He wasn’t accepting of failure, they knew that from the hushed whispers that spread across the camp at night. He expected perfection, and word from within the now sprawling architecture of the growing Cathedral was that neither twin took insult lightly. She sucked the life out of the undeserving and he, well, he supposedly just ripped heretics clean apart.

Father Troy had been all sharp angles and gaunt bone as he’d stopped his slow pace in front of them and hunched to lean down to their eye level. They’d realised how wrong they’d been about his appearance as the heavy furs that splayed across his shoulders like a mantle blotted out the sun behind him and framed his jagged silhouette in light.

Tyreen wasn’t short.

Troy was a _monster_.

It had been hard to pick up on his scale when they’d only seen him next to his sister, they’d just figured she was a smaller woman and him a tall man, but the reality of his _size_ was beyond intimidating now that they could see with frightening intimacy that the scrapped together prosthetic that he held at his side so effortlessly was as _long as they were tall_.

A glint of gold teeth through a smile they’d thought more Skag than human snapped them out of their shock, and he’d congratulated them. Thanked the “Jak-Knife” he’d been watching so closely for their excellent work on the field, waved the disturbingly proportioned metal claws of his arm towards their team and praised their group promotion, slathered honey-thick words from a barbed tongue about how they’d be _blessed_ by being the honour guard for a God now - a fine reward for their outstanding work… yes?

The others had gasped in stuttered praise and whimpered thanks while Jk had nodded respectfully, knowing damn well that Calypso wasn’t really _asking_ at all.

The newly titled vanguard escorted him everywhere, and that meant a shift in JK’s life within the blossoming city that they could not have prepared for. They no longer slept on bare ground when not visiting Sanctuary for updates, they were brought _into_ the twin’s cathedral, were able to see its glory with their own eyes for the first time. The inside wasn’t anything like the still decrepit outer walls surrounded by scaffolding that workers scurried across like ants, it was like nothing Jak-Knife had _ever seen_.

A bastion of worship, vast cavernous stone halls spread with clan banners in colours they’d almost forgotten, neon blazing lights framing sprawling stained glass windows depicting Saints and Clergy who’s names they’d heard but never put a face to.

Ur-Aurum, scowling from under heavy brows, framed in monochrome and gold. Coins and bullets pouring from his open palms.

Ur-Machina, sharp and vibrant in reds and coppers, oil-stained hands resting gently on the slab of gilded war tech she rested daintily against.

Ur-Vendit, pristine in parallel lines and perfect angles, sneering through a swathe of shining colours as numbers and cash totals ran like ivy through the window’s frame.

And something new that had been being assembled along the great hall when they first entered, a half-finished window titled “Oracle” - just the fine lines of lead and a great, staring eye all that they could make out as they followed the priest irritably urging the vanguard group to hurry as they were lead to their chambers.

For the first time they had experienced, JK not only belonged, but they were _envied_. Their gear was decorated, armour and weapons upgraded at the Father’s blessing, and the _titles_ that came with the role were impossible to avoid, whispered in reverence by warriors who would have spat at their feet only a few years ago.

God-King’s _chosen_ , God-King’s _first_ , God-King’s _hand_ , the nods of respect passed to them by _warlords_ like Mouthpiece in passing filled their chest with pride under the weight of its binder, and the trips back to Sanctuary became… harder.

For all they had achieved within the now monstrous in scale COV, the Raiders saw them no differently than they had when they’d first sat alone in Moxxi’s. They were still a Bandit, and _nothing_ more. JK was side-eyed, muttered about, treated like an outsider who needed to earn their keep by passing on intel they were _risking their life for_ , all while in the back of their mind being more than aware that they could have this place raised to the ground with a damn WORD. Lilith didn’t understand what it meant to be as close to Calypso as they were, that they were beginning to earn his ear.

She wasn’t aware that a fucking _God_ cared about their opinion enough to ask for it on long technical rides or when escorting him between meetings, to her, and to the rest of the Raiders, they were still simply a lost native behind a mask that was being handed scraps of decency by people _better than them_ \- and the strain of that reality was difficult to ignore. Moxxi tried her best, always there to console and remind them _she_ valued who they were, the beautiful mind they had shared with her in tender moments and long intimate conversations over the last few years, but the insult burned in their gut still.

They weren’t just Jak-Knife. They were the God King’s chosen, and they were _betraying_ someone who valued them to share internal information on Saints and departments, cashflow and raids, with people who willingly partnered with the _Crimson Lance_ , people who just plain did not seem to _understand **who**_ they were, what they had earned through sacrifice and blood shed.

But Troy? The longer they spent around Troy the more his own mask began to slip, and the harder it came to see him as any form of enemy. The blessed Father couldn’t hide his weak spells or the times illness left him barely able to stand from a bodyguard who was at his side almost every waking moment, there was no way to do so regardless of how much he clearly wished there was. JK saw everything… the spasms, the fainting, heard the whistling of weak lungs when in silence next to the damaged God, saw the black circles under his eyes that the expertly applied makeup he wore could hide at a distance. He’d been aggressive about it at first, vicious and hurtful in his reactions when they’d try and assist, but over time, as they made clear that the mockery and pity he was expecting was _not going to come_ , he’d softened. He’d thanked Jak-Knife one night as they scraped together a fire on the salt flats to chase the bitter cold away and keep their king warm.

A **God** had looked at them with ice blue eyes that reminded them of a face they could no longer remember, and whispered genuine appreciation for _them_. How could they continue to betray him. How could they hurt him for people who didn’t even count JK as human?

They saw a delicate and sickly side of one of the twin God’s that felt _wrong_ to share with the raiders, that left a bad taste in their mouth to discuss with Lilith, so they simply didn’t. The rationalised that the raiders did not need to know about the self-doubt or painful loss JK saw crack through Troy’s facade in private, the raiders didn’t _need_ an update on how one of the twins wasn’t healthy, that he could struggle sometimes to get to his feet before an audience, or would need a discreet support from the solid weight of their muscle next to his spindly frame after some events.

Lilith didn’t need to know it, and as time passed, JK found they were beginning to keep secrets. Little ones at first, justified under the intel not being valuable, but the ease of witholding useful data only increased. Their position, the growing camaraderie with the COV’s grunts and militia, the _respect_ in the eyes of worshippers who looked to the Vanguard all fed into the slow realisation that their loyalty simple did not belong to the Vault Hunters, it was to Moxxi, who _loved_ them. It was to Troy, who every day became closer to the memory of Gutpunch they’d try and visualise on lonely nights, see his crooked smile and cool eyes flicker across a face they could no longer place.

The closer JK got with the man behind the King’s mask, the harder it became to give over information to the raiders that had any real tactical value…

And that had been Troy’s plan, ever since the day he’d discreetly planted a tracker on them while they’d squinted against the blinding sunlight to first look into the face of a **God**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	77. Beliefs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

##  **Troy**

There were no deities on Nekrotafeyo, and he _refuses_ to believe in spirits.

Ghosts and Gods are disgusting - broken losses that drag their claws through your skin as you desperately try to forgive yourself for failures and regrets, nothing but lies that cripple you with guilt. They are man made, he **knows** that. I mean, he’s been building Gods for most of his adulthood…

The idea of an afterlife or that beings retain their person after death just… it fucks him up desperately. One of Troy’s few ways of dealing with the things he has done over the years to placate Tyreen’s hunger is to tell himself that those people were _better off dead_. He thinks about it often, on nights where he’s too sickened with the idea of existing in his own skin to even _consider_ sleeping in it. The dead being dead, and how _quickly_ reaching the end was one of the few reliefs he could offer them.

His mother not _really_ being gone? Watching him now from some paper thin form he can’t see or touch but that whispers disgust at the edge of his consciousness? He can’t. He won’t even think about it. Catches the question behind his eyes before it creeps to the forefront of his thoughts and shakes it away, drowns it in alcohol or blurs it with lines of snorted powder.

Gods and ghosts are man made. He _WON’T_ allow himself to make a ghost. The people he loves are alive _and_ dead. He’ll fight to keep the ones that are with him safe and healthy as long as his heart is still struggling to beat in his warped chest, but the deceased are _gone._. They are _gone_. Don’t.. don’t dare imply otherwise.

There was no room for superstition growing up, but he does have habits. Little beliefs he’s justified to himself by wrapping in logic. Things like how nothing that is broken _deserves to be abandoned_.

Troy can’t just discard things.. it cuts at him somewhere behind his ribs he’d rather not think about. The idea of just destroying an object that worked so hard for you?

That _did_ its job till it couldn’t function anymore?

No.

No, that’s wrong. You shouldn’t do that. It’s only right to _try_ and fix it.

Troy, God King of the COV with his infinite cash stocks and unlimited reach, will sit hunched over broken tech that’s served him till he’s **sure** it can’t be revived. The man will work his skilled fingers to bloody tears before he will give up.

He’ll mutter grouchily to friends that they should bring him things. A drawn out huff breathed over a pouted lower lip that _-maybe-_ he could try fixing that cracked amp if Eli dropped it to Sanctum and he had time. That it would be a _waste_ to just lose it..

A snarky sigh and extended open palm as he gestures for JK to hand over their jammed old release buckle, the one that attaches their shoulderguard. Yeah it’s a piece of shit, but he can fix it in 5 minutes. Just _give it to him_ and stop being a pain in the ass.

An eye roll and groan at Ven who’s boasting about the new special edition e-Dev release he pre-ordered Seifa, a snap about how she doesn’t _want it_ and if the other man knew her the way _Troy does_ , he’d know that they should repair the damaged shell of her current one instead. That they should customise it together, how THAT’s what she’d like - something that represented both of them and wasn’t a pointless waste of funds.

A shrug and sneer as Troy pretends he _doesn’t see_ the knowing smirk his Oracle aims in return, even when he feels it crawling over his blushing skin like molasses.

Broken things that have worked so hard… they deserve _someone_ to try and fix them.

* * *

##  **Seifa** ****

Fiercely logical and the kind of person to roll her eyes at mentions of _bullshit_ like ghosts, or magic, or the supernatural… except she’s found herself now in a slightly confusing situation when it comes to her past beliefs.

Hard to be a stoic disbeliever when your partner in crime can see the future through an ancient civilisation’s construct, when one of your most trustworthy pillars of support speaks to the dead and bears crystalline burns across half their body that you _swear_ you see shift sometimes, or where an aching piece of your heart is held by someone you think may _actually_ be a monster. A real one, like the kids used to whisper about on those long nights in the workrooms, the glow of red eyes and glint of golden fangs that you’d catch in the corner of your eye as you’d blink against the pitch darkness when trying to drag your little blanket over your head at night to sleep.

She’s started rethinking, even if she would NEVER admit that.

Luck is something else, luck is definitely real and she’ll turn up her nose and narrow her eyes at any _idiot_ who thinks they follow its flow. Bullshit.

YOU make your own luck, and if you don’t cop that early, you’ll get nowhere in life.

She keeps a flattened bullet that embedded itself in a wall inches from her ear on one of her first “bad” deals. Has it worn to a smooth finish from years of running her thumb over it in her pocket when things feel tight, if there’s a chance a deal may go south and she’ll have another gun aimed at her. Kept her alive since then, she’s sure.

Showed it to Ven once and he laughed, curled her fingers around it gently and pressed it into her palm, whispered through a breathy chuckle against her ear to keep it close, that she was _right_ and some objects _do_ play along your future like chimes on the winds of fate, and to keep that between ‘em.

Finds she can’t go to sleep sometimes without saying goodnight, habit and superstition mixed into an urge that rolls in her stomach till she sates it. Used to laugh it in a wave, all of them, the kids. Good night good night good night, giggling across the bunk beds as the lights flicked out on that floor.

Seifa is alone now in the little cocoon of her bedroom, so finds other ways to do it instead.

Echopings to her dear friends with a “ _Sleep tight_ ” at 3am, despite them not talking in a week.

“ _Night night, Troy_” to an exhausted God who needed the reminder that someone was thinking about him, smiling tenderly at the flickering light from his e-com and how she always seemed to know when he was struggling.

 **“** _Goodnight, Ty_” to a thing that hasn’t slept in years and _hates_ that she reminded it.

Just little habits, nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	78. Little things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **Troy**

  * Slaps to the back, hands resting on top of the bracer, jabs to the ribs under its edge, that kind of intimate playfulness from people he trusts initiates immediate heart-boner mode.
  * If someone he wasn’t close to did that shit he’d twist em in half. He’d 180 their torso before they realised what had just happened, and maybe _that’s_ why friends doing it wrecks him so hard. They normalise it. They _normalise_ the rig and the spines and the hollow shell of iron, like it’s not terrifying ( when he knows it should be ), and it’s not disgusting ( when he knows what’s under it ), and it’s not sacrosanct to touch ( when he knows it absolutely fucking is ).
  * Ven playfully punching the blunt front of the bracer, a heavy paw from JK on the top of his empty shoulder, Eli asking how his back is and gently pressing fingers into the edge of his spine? Dude gets _shivers_. 😔
  * People offering him help is another “ _If you were anyone else I’d kill you but I actually really love this thank you_ ” contradiction for him, but it has _very specific_ rules.
  * Troy is shockingly independent, there were no accessibility tools on Nekro and no prosthetics, he’s learned how to do almost everything without assistance and uses his mouth, hip bone, thighs, etc to manipulate things in place of his missing arm. He generally doesn’t _need_ help, and that’s probably why friends offering it is.. nice.
  * No one ever offered. **No one** ever offered, his whole life. If someone close to him asks if they can help as he’s opening something or pulling on a glove with his teeth? _Yeh_ 😏. _Yeh they can, sure_. The little touches they might give him as they do are just a bonus.
  * ~~Don’t offer him help if he’s struggling. Don’t make it clear you’ve noticed he can’t do something. He’ll already be on razor edge and ready to tear himself apart over it, so drawing attention to his shame is a recipe for disaster. He’ll _ask_ if he needs help. He’ll… he’ll _ask_ if he needs it.~~



* * *

##  **Seifa**

  * Someone preparing something for her to eat without asking absolutely generates an internal sob. It’s the idea that she occupied a part of their brain that made them _think_ of her when grabbing food or a drink, that her comfort actually mattered enough to someone to consider her despite there not being any gain.
  * Sei remembers _every time_ this happens and has an internal little checklist for making sure she returns the gesture of care, from Eli handing her some fresh bread that he picked up from the kitchens at lunch, to JK insisting she try the concerning coloured fruit juice they had remembered mentioning before and wanted her to taste. She tries to pay em all back, one way or another.
  * An arm around her shoulders decimates her. She goes full jelly mode, all stupid grin and slight blush, if she’s being pressed against a solid side then _even better_. Couldn’t really explain why if she was asked, probably some underhanded combo of feeling protected and like she _mattered_ enough to want to hold close that way. Gets an emotional chub of intense girth.
  * ~~**Hand touches.**~~ It’s just so.. out of the norm. It’s not something that _ever_ happens in her day to day life, you don’t make that connection with other people in her position and role. Friend reaching over to turn her wrist and ask if the tremor they spotted is a problem? _Oh no_. Partner in crime Ven holding it as he leads her through a crowd so they don’t get separated? _OH NO_. Troy’s unmistakable _change_ in behavior when she eventually returns to Pandora, glancing touches against the back of her hand when he’s always been so _weird_ about that in general. Slowly lacing heavy fingers between hers as she starts to doze off next to him against the couch pillows, like if he’s careful enough she _won’t notice_? **OH NO.**



* * *

##  **Tyreen**

  * Troy _sometimes_ shows Ty security recordings, it’s a little known fact that the entire Cathedral and most of the Holy City is under surveillance, though maybe it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.. the _Father is all seeing_ , after-all. There’s a specific thing he’ll clip from edits and show her because he understands how it makes her feel, and it’s people _praising_ Tyreen when she’s not there to force it.
  * Not worshiping, praising. Comments on her great performance last week in a conversation between some dust runners guarding their cabal’s alley in the Slums. Some kids playing God Queen, one gap toothed little girl with a coat wrapped around her shoulders shouting about how strong and powerful Tyreen is, how SHE’S Tyreen this round! _Start running_. Little things, real things that show an affection and care towards her from people who _aren’t_ being forced. It hits her. It really hits her, and the smile she beams at him in response is _real_.
  * Having her hair being pampered absolutely throbs her ickle heart. There isn’t really any _of_ Ty that can be touched, but her hair is pretty safe, long as the stylist is wearing gloves. Those little fluttering tickles and glances of human contact near her scalp leave her hot in the cheeks and smirking to herself as she rests back in the padded char of the Makeup team’s portable boutique. She can close her eyes and really focus on how that feels, the little connection to someone else.
  * She remembers how years ago, she’d sit with Troy in their shared cloister between their ship docks and just do _fucking nothing_ most nights - when Sei wasn’t around that is. She’d splay back on the sofa and he’d sit on the floor between her legs, snarking bullshit comments about how cringe what she was watching was as he carefully painted her toenails while her feet rested in his lap.
  * She’d slap his back and tell him to shut the fuck up, that he just had no _taste_ and couldn’t tell a good romance if it punched him in the dick. Ty would wait for him to stop laughing before she returned to pressing experienced fingers into the pain points along the ridge of his scarred shoulder, kneading out twinges like she’d done for as long as she can remember.
  * They don’t do that now though… not anymore.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	79. Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

##  **Troy**

Dead things that don’t know they are dead yet.

He’s not squeamish in the slightest, his mom had been teaching him how to gut fresh kills, debone neatly, and preserve the good eating organs for rainy since he was 5, so zombie movies and gore don’t do anything to him. It’s the _idea_ of dead things… not being dead really that.. _. Fuckkk._ It gets him, man.

Bringing things back to life and it going _wrong_ , things controlled by other things and no longer really alive themselves, parasites puppeting a corpse, that kind of existential horror genuinely fucks him up to the point of not being able to handle it in media or sometimes even discussion. It _panics him_.

The nightmares of Leda’s husked skull snapping as the crystallised flesh across it splits and creaks and the jaw shuddering as it tries pathetically to mouth his name have **never stopped** , and that shit didn’t even _happen_. He knows it didn’t, but something in the back of his inner child’s mind never stopped asking if she’d _really been gone_ when they buried the fragmented parts of the body that hadn’t been reduced to dust.

What if she had been alive somehow? What if The Leech takes your energy but your soul is trapped, that’s what it feels like inside him, after all. That’s what it might have done… What if she was down there alone and cold under the roots of that Hue-Tree in the ruins, and she couldn’t see or hear but she was lonely and… and…

He still wakes up every few weeks in a fever sweat and finds himself hunched over the cool steel of his toilet as he pukes his guts up. Never talks about it. 

Just says zombie movies are _shit_.

* * *

##  **Tyreen**

_**Nothing**_.

And that’s worrying her. She’s not afraid of the concept of nothing, she’s just not… afraid. Not anymore.

It took her years to realise, it’s like it had very slowly slipped away as an emotion and by the time it was gone there weren’t any reminders of it to make her realise it was missing in the first place. She feels _distress_ , she can be _concerned_ , she definitely knows those are still there because they can hit her like a truck sometimes out of the blue on bad nights, but fear is… gone.

It had just been a throwaway comment from Xan as he’d escorted her through the Marketing wing after a word with Troy’s Media department, a sneered giggle to him about how _stupidly_ nervous they had been and how _her_ people had some fucking backbone. He’d chuckled and agreed with her majesty that she chose _far better_ a calibre of staff than her brother, then complimented that they had actually been _terrified of her_ , not just anxious.

She’d thought about that for hours after, trying to remember what being terrified had felt like. Why she hadn’t understood what she had seen on their faces and misread their pale skin and tight eyes as “nerves”.

When **had** she last been afraid. Before they left Nekro? No it couldn’t have been that long ago… no, it was when Troy had.. it was a couple of days after they had landed on Pandora, after that man had sliced jagged glass across her face when she’d fucked up their introduction on the edge of the Bandit camp. It was when Troy had erupted in eyes and wings and red lightning neither of them had known was inside him, and _liquified_ that raid party to protect her.

Had that _taken_ fear from her? She can’t remember feeling it again, not that terror, even when she was so desperate to find help after how sick he became when he woke up. Had The Leech eaten a piece of her to let her brother explode with power, or had it just been coincidence.

She can’t feel some things anymore. She can’t feel fear, and the realisation that there is **nothing** there instead of a missing emotion sends alarms and warnings through every part of her brain.

She just can’t bring herself to _care_ , because maybe that part of her is gone too.

* * *

##  **Seifa**

Space

Yeah it’s not.. the _best_ thing to be terrified of when you spend so much of your life migrating between planets and trade rigs, but there is a _reason_ her ship hasn’t been upgraded to a newer model in a decade. Those old hunkers were SAFE.

That great void is unfathomable to her, runs a shiver up her spine and through her guts if she thinks about it too hard, how huge it is. How nothing any of us are, planets just specs of dust floating through an endless dark.

There had been accidents when she was a kid, impossible to not hear about that kind of thing on a station made of connected fleet ships. A burst airlock, a shittily repaired hull, a phosphorus fire on deck 12 and the only solution being to _flush_ … People would die sometimes, just sucked out into that ripping vacuum as their blood froze rupturing through their veins. Adults couldn’t really explain the physics to kids so instead there was an instilled fear in their warnings about _pressure_ , and _triple-checking seals_ , and _never entering trash locks_.

Makes her turn yellow and wobble on her feet if brought up in discussion, and she’s always made a surprising amount of excuses to stay planetside in general. Pandora might eat you alive… but at least you’ll leave a corpse.

[Source: billelis.com](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fbillelis.com&t=OTQzMGIxYTk3NjlkMjFmYzIyMmUwMzcyM2E3M2EwZWY3ZDg5ZjE5Myw2MzQ1OTcxMjU4MTA5Nzg4MTY%3D&b=t%3AZ6MgHQMBhl2RhpSLMxuPkA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fborder-spam.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F634597125810978816%2Fleech-lord-terror-troy-dead-things-that-dont&m=1&ts=1605285087)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	80. Eridians, Sirens, and the Great Destroyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

The Eridian empire was vast, timeless, and _completely_ insular. Their species had watched hundreds of others crawl out of backwater planets over the eons and race headfirst into extinction shortly after, so hairy little pink monkey bipeds that made irritating noises and had gross soft bodies didn’t exactly hold much interest for them. 

Their only real interactions with the system’s humans were with the Siren hosts who were drawn to Nekrotafeyo over time, women who’s energy hummed in the same melodic frequency the Eridians used to communicate, and they would have been more than happy to _keep_ it that way.

Incredibly technologically advanced and so long-lived that they would seem immortal to lesser species, they were _completely_ unchallenged in their total dominance of the Galaxy… and still would be if they hadn’t **fucked up so badly.**

* * *

**Siren Song** = They just vibin, man. 

  * It’s the constant, endless sound the great powers make. They are alone in that place of other, floating through the endless dark of eternity, so it’s not a form of communication or an attempt to reach out - it just **is**. It just **exists in** the same way the Siren entities always have and always will. Maybe they aren’t even making noise and the song is just how human brains translate the information they are taking in? Who knows. Not really any of our business anyway.
  * It reverbs through everything linked to them, so eridium, Siren hosts, Eridian architecture and ruins? They _all_ sing, it’s just that most can’t hear it.
  * Pandorans can over time because they live _so close_ to the greatest reservoir of eridium that exists, and it is **screaming** under their feet. The problem is that once you start hearing it? Well, you can’t really _go back._
  * All Siren hosts are drawn to Pandora not because of what their brain tells them, not cause they want riches, or to make a name for themselves, or to be a Vault Hunter, they are drawn there because it _feels like home_. Somewhere in the back of their minds, in a part of their brain they can’t access, the _song is still singing_.



* * *

**Eridians** = Ancient insectoid race of spacefarers. Cool guys. Really good at poker, terrible at charades.

  * Through a mix of technology and natural affinity to the great Sirens, developed premonition ( _future thread sight_ ) and warp travel ( _colonised a huge amount of planets_ ). Communicated through a chittering song on a frequency inaudible to humans. 
  * It was similar enough to the hum Siren host’s emanate that they tolerated the women’s confused pilgrimages to their home planet, drawn by the melodic lure of the eridium and the Eridians themselves.



* * *

**Eridium =** Crystallised Siren-Entity energy from their plane. Purple. Sings if you know how to listen to it, tastes like fried pickles.

  * The Eridians naturally as a species were able to tap into the great power’s plane and siphon energy from it, which fueled their entire civilisation. The great Siren Entities did not give a shit about this, they don’t about anything in general, it was infinitely replaceable and in no way harmful to them for the Eridians to extract. They wouldn’t even notice, really. They don’t exist on the same cosmic fuckin’ reality anyway.
  * Eridium sings in resonance with the entities’ song, it’s part of them in a very roundabout way, and that’s why Siren hosts can _consume_ it to boost their Siren’s manifested powers.



* * *

**Destroyer =** The great Eridian fuckup. Don’t blame it though, it would rather just go home.

  * When your species has developed premonition that’s almost entirely accurate bar when trying to predict Siren power touched outcomes, it’s easy to get overconfident. If everything always works out in your favour, risks feel less dangerous, and _holy fuck_ did these giant cricket dudes take a stupid risk.
  * Time made them greedy, and ego made them _dumb_. As their civilisation spread and power needs grew exponentially, they developed machinery to siphon eridium into physical crystals instead of using their own innate abilities, and eventually decided to open a direct link into the Siren Power’s realm. An umbilical that was meant to allow a constant flow of power and increase harvesting, but instead released **_something terrible…_**
  * For real though it’s only a lil guy. The “ _ **Great Destroyer**_ ” is just a parasite, a bug. Another being like the Siren entities that’s native to their plane except minute in comparative size and power. It’s a gnat, a tiny flicker of life that harmlessly swam through the Siren song and consumed energy, till a group of insectoid arseholes ripped it out of its own reality and into a very shitty one. 
  * It’s confused and pissed, so it does what anyone would do in its position.
  * It starts _eating_.



* * *

**Great extinction =** Eridians have fucked up so badly they decide the best plan is to just mass kill themselves out of pure cringe so they won’t have to deal with being laughed at by shitty little monkey bipeds. 

  * The umbilical was designed to siphon from the Siren power’s plane, never to push something _back_. The Eridians understandably brick themselves as a race once the problem with this becomes rapidly apparent. The Destroyer is running rampant, consuming everything in its path and growing in size exponentially. Their weapons only seem to feed it more, and it’s being attracted to what it knows - eridium and the song it hums. The energy that fills their cities and resonates through _their bodies_ is now a death sentence.
  * Their planets have been decimated, and the monster’s sights are set on Nektrotafeyo next. Cue Nyriad and her huge, sexy brain.
  * Siren hosts have always been attracted to Eridian planets. Their bodies reverberate with the same song despite the huge differences between the two species, just like the eridium that fills their cities. It’s an involuntary lure across the dark of space for women who already feel isolated and removed from their own planets.
  * Nyriad had been on Nekro for some time before The Destroyer was released - enjoying a friendly if mildly frustrating relationship with beings that saw her as a shitty little monkey biped who was slightly better than all the others because she had rad tats and made a noise they like.
  * It was her that raised the idea to GLUT this thing into naptime by feeding it the energy it was being drawn so desperately to, and to surround it with eridium after.
  * …but it was the Eridians who raised that the greatest concentration of that energy was within _them_.
  * Billions sacrificed themselves to the beast’s hunger, Nyriad crumbled under the weight of so many deaths she felt truly responsible for, and ** _it_** slipped into a great slumber.
  * Pandora is not a cage, it’s a cradle. The Destroyer sleeps surrounded by the sensation of being where it belongs, no longer lost or afraid as it dreams from within the Siren’s song.



* * *

**Eridians leave =** Goodbye bugs, thanks for pretty much nothing.

  * There were plenty left after the great sacrifice, but they left the system not long after it was completed. 
  * Whether it was a “Ah fuck, sorry” response or they saw something horrific coming in the future is up to debate, but they left a _long, long, long_ time ago. 
  * If they had seen something terrible on the horizon, then it either ended up not happening or they left the system a HELL of a lot of time before it was due to. Then again, they couldn’t see Siren touched futures, or The Destroyer would never have been accidentally fished out of the nether.
  * Maybe they will come back someday, but it’s likely the only contact humanity will ever have with Eridian civilisation is through the ruins of what they left behind, and the constructed guardians that _defend it so viciously_.



* * *

**The maddening =** The great psychosis that ripped across Pandora and whispered insanity into the minds of those abandoned by the corporate wars.

  * 29 years before Borderlands 3 starts, **_The Leech_ **Siren entity is freed after _millennia_ of rotting alone in a cell. Removed from the song, torn from the others, half in and half out of the plane it should exist in, it’s lost. It’s frightened, it’s desperately lonely, and in its panic to find a host ends up split into two, torn between separated bodies it never _wanted_ in the first place.
  * **Its** song joins the chorus, and the sound is _horrific. B_ roken, distorted notes, sharp and flat in all the wrong places, a cacophony of screeching voices and sounds impossible for human brains to comprehend. 
  * It rips across Pandora’s hum like a distortion, and its madness locks into the minds of all those poor, innocent people who’d been around eridium long enough that they could hear the melody without even realising yet.
  * Pandora goes mad, Bandits screech of the _great maw_ , the _all-seeing eye , _and Leda Calypso soothes her broken twins.



* * *

Phew. 

So, nutshell?

In my Leech Lord AU, all eridium screams in confused song - half **_The Leech’s_** distortion, half the rest of the entity’s melody.

Sirens are drawn to Pandora, not because of whatever reason their logical mind tells them, but because it’s the only place in the Universe with such a concentration of the energy that’s part of _them_ \- part of the _great powers_ themselves.

Each Siren host hums with their own sound, Troy and Tyreen differently, like 2 parts of the same broken voice overlapping and crackling. 

When _together,_ they harmonise… and _**that’s**_ why their streams are so deadly. 

_**That’s**_ why they skyrocketed to the level of intergalactic fame they did.

**Like, Follow, and Obey.**

…it’s _not **the Twins**_ who are saying it

* * *

Followup drunken spamming about this from afterwards:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	81. Isolated upbringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  The twins grew up in near total isolation, it’s a factor about them that’s easy to forget but affects every part of how they act as adults.

If Typhon or Leda didn’t teach them it or it wasn’t in one of the old shows they had access to from the ship’s media files, they _don’t know about it_. 

They were 20 the first time they heard of half the little nuanced childhood things so many people take for granted. Ask **Tyreen** to “Rock/Paper/Scissors for it”, and she’ll politely tell you _she doesn’t have any_. Try to initiate a game of slapsies with **Troy** and he’ll just _deck you_ while looking confused. 

They are weird, they are completely removed from the shared formative games and habits other people have had, and the ones they developed together instead are unique to the point of coming across as wrong to others - something they still get irritated about years later. 

Seifa scrabbling out of her ratty sofa to grab Troy’s arm and ask where they were both going when Ty told him the shower was ready. The look on her face as she desperately tried not to laugh while explaining that no, the water _wouldn’t_ be wasted if they had separate ones, no it’s fine, it _doesn’t_ take long to heat up, it’s not being done over a _fire_. 

Finding out other people thought it was weird to share a toothbrush or a towel, _why_? What’s _wrong_ with using the same cup? Why is being under the same blanket a _problem?_? **_That_** had been a rude awakening - being told other people would see something they’d done since they were born as taboo was rough, specially when it was for a reason neither of them had ever thought of before. _Gross_. Plenty of wincing side eyes between them as Sei had explained _that_ one…

Most of the little things the twins have carried since childhood in their behavior have to be toned down around others. It’s not Godlike to sideways squat-walk into your brother’s room while grunting “ _What up, dickface_ ”. It’s not divine to belch onto your sister’s tea when she asks you to pass it to her.

No one else really understands the games they made up as kids, the in jokes, the _sounds_ that can render them both into eye watering giggles because they remember the references, so they keep that shit to themselves. It’s a little reminder that they _are_ actually twins.

Troy sneaks food back to their shared cloister. Vegetables and fruits he’s never seen before while out at galas end up staining the inside of his suit pockets. His coat is lined with semi forgotten snacks, and it’s all for Ty. They had a game as kids where when he came across something new while foraging, they’d take it in turns to try and describe how it tasted to the other - Tyreen leeching it to dust and trying to see if she could accurately describe her understanding of the taste to Troy before he put it in his mouth, then him scoring her description out of ten as he crunched through.

He still gets a little thrill of excitement when he see’s new food as an adult because of it, and sitting cross legged facing each other as he chews an Athenian pickle and tries to get across what it * _tastes_ * like using descriptions of colours and memories Tyreen will understand is something you can find them laughing together about in their mid twenties. 

They hit each other a lot. Not aggressively, they just have zero qualms about slapping each other off seats or kicking shins. 

They rough-housed constantly as kids, Ty eager to get rid of pent up energy and Troy happy to be able to overpower his sister even if it was just due to sheer size, and it never stopped as they got older. He’ll lay on the couch next to her and launch her sideways off it with a carefully aimed push of his foot when she won’t stop talking. She’ll yawn a good morning to his groggy, makeup smeared face, then land a pulled punch to his back just under the ribs as he stumbles past her. 

Seifa has walked in on them in a crumpled heap on the floor, Troy in a headlock as he choke-holds his sister because neither of them would agree on what compilation vid they would watch that night. There’s a lot of physical bickering with good intentions behind it, and if it happens then they are in _good_ moods. 

They have a twin language, though it’s not words so much as a collection of sounds and facial expressions they have references for from years of being bored shitless together on Nekro. Subtle sneers and eye-rolls coupled with chuckled whispers under their breath that leave both of them grinning ear to ear and whatever poor sap who’s been trying to get one over the God Twins sweating under their fancy suit collar. 

She takes his clothes a lot, older ones he’s broken in around Sanctum mysteriously vanish. He pretends not to notice. 

He raids her cabinets often, high end skincare and pampering treatments sent from sponsors tend to be gifted to Tyreen, but she ends up never using them and says nothing about them going missing.

As time goes on in Leech Lord, the divide between them grows slowly. His attempts to flip back into old habits begin to get rebuked. She doesn’t want to sit next to him in the cloister anymore. She’s got no interest in watching things. She stares at him irritably when he snickers a word they made up as kids under his breath as one of her Saints drones through a report in front of their thrones. 

The punches feel more real. 

But there are still nights, rarely, that she creeps into Sanctum in the deep quiet and wakes him with freezing cold feet against his back when she starts to snore under his bed covers, and God King Calypso still _sometimes_ pockets vegetables he’s never seen before if he thinks no one is watching.

They _**are**_ twins, after all.

  * _While_ their personal ships are considered s _uper private do not enter unless someone is dying_ / **NO TYREENS ALLOWED / TROY IS A LOSER** safe zones, they spend a fair amount of cooldown time in the shared cloister between both docked sanctum ships in any cathedral, and it’s where the majority of actual sibling shit happens.
  * _Troy_ is a habitual night owl ( to an unhealthy level ), and always keeps Ty in mind while he’s browsing the echonet or queueing shows to watch while she’s asleep. He’ll throw new seasons or episodes of shows he knows she hasn’t seen into her playlist as he watches, or sometimes just shit he found interesting in the hopes she might want to discuss it with him after she watches it.
  * _Tyreen_ will leave drinks or snacks next to him if he’s out cold on a couch or by a computer when she wakes up, she tends to subconsciously monitor his weight and pushes him to eat more without needing to say it if he looks like he’s lost any.
  * _Tyreen_ doesn’t eat much herself - the Leech Siren power keeps her hungry _but not for actual food_. Troy does cook for himself quite often and will bring leftovers into her ship and leave them in the kitchen if she’s out. He cooks with a lot of fresh vegetables and herbs, and she appreciates the switch up from the junk she normally eats as prepping it herself would be near impossible when the plants wither at her touch.
  * _While_ the intimate closeness of growing up with only themselves and Typhon, and then surviving for a year with only each other on Pandora is something they quickly stopped doing in public due to it being misinterpreted in ways they didn’t want to have to deal with, they fall into old habits easily when in private.
  * _Passing_ the same cup of coffee back and forth between them, eating with their hands from the same plate, sprawling half on top of each other on the same pile of cushions or couch as they plan upcoming streams or review cult data passed on by their Saints.
  * _Troy_ never questions her sudden neediness for contact that can appear after a stressful or frightening day. He _knows_ her, he _gets_ it, and he’s the only one who she can take comfort from when she desperately needs an arm around her shoulders, or to bury her face in his chest and insist _she **isn’t** crying._
  * _Tyreen_ is painfully aware of his frail physical condition and habitually appears at his ship door every week or two with a small testing kit and takes bloods while he gives her a rundown of how he’s feeling. 
  * _He_ would never trust a COV medic for this, mostly because his ego wouldn’t want his health issues to be public and damage his persona and reputation, but he’s never been concerned by Tyreen drawing a sample even before his spinal implant was installed and could provide one without a needle. 
  * _He_ self medicates based on the results and gets very irritable if she tries to give any advice, but she’s learned a long time ago that feeling like a burden.. a parasite.. is something that would hurt him deeply, and understands why she needs to not be involved and she should leave this to him.
  * _While_ Troy is noticeably neat and tidy in his living space, Tyreen is not, and tends to let her private quarters get to the point of causing her stress over how messy they get. No cult priest has access to either ship, so after multiple failed attempts to get her to keep her quarters clean before the mess would get out of control, he just said fuck it and made his bot fleet do it instead.
  * _The_ final part of their cleaning script has a: _that_bitch.DefilthTyreenAbode()_ function that sends them across the living space and Into her ship if it hasn’t run in the last 2 weeks.
  * _It_ took her months to realise it was happening, but the first time she spotted the procession of janky little junk bots wobbling across the inner cloister floor and through her ship’s airlock to go tidy and dust, she found the most expensive bottle of whiskey she could fling a million $ at online, and left it on his workdesk.
  * _He_ still has it years later, stashed away and unopened in the same storage area he keeps Typhon’s old jacket and his faded photo of them as young children with Leda.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	82. Don't worry about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

The boys belong to [@hieroglyphix](https://tmblr.co/mO-I_3tkR08pC9ATrfNBJQA)

* * *

If Eli was any more excited he’d be vibrating, grinning from the _painfully_ white medical bed he sat on as his legs swung back and forth happily.

“Ven, thanks man, **seriously**. I appreciate this more than I can really… I don’t want to even like, _think_ about how you managed to get me in here.” he chirped back to his brother as Ven leaned against the wall next to the private room’s entrance, both of them waiting for the humorless medic to return with the last batch of test results.

He waved away the thanks with a snort and half a crooked smirk as he chuckled. “Eli, s-seriously just leave it, you’d do the same for me.”

The whole setup stank like med spray and something he couldn’t quite place. Sour - not _bad_ sour, something citric in the way it stung the nose. There was some memory being triggered by it that was fuzzy enough to be able to ignore, something at the back of his brain from when they were kids. From the _facility_. The same white tiles, the same acrid chemical disinfectant trying to hide behind that tangy scent… he shrugged it off. Not now, not the time and definitely not the place he decided, distracting himself by turning to face Eli as he beamed from where he sat.

“And bro, honestly? It wasn’t **that** hard. I think, uh, I think Calypso might have a bit of a soft spot towards you or something..” Ven trailed off, running a hand through the hair clipped short to the side of his scalp as he took in the harsh lines and empty walls of the examination room, barren and clinical, pretending he didn’t notice the _difference_ in the equipment in here compared to the COV medical installations they’d visited before.

He swallowed uncomfortably against the lump in his throat, avoiding meeting Eli’s concerned glance.

Troy hadn’t been joking about being able to provide access to high end med-tech in repayment for Ven’s contract. This shit was _leagues_ out of what the public had access to, what _they’d_ had access to over the last few years. The lanky prick had secrets, and for Ven, the uneasiness of realising he hadn’t _known_ **Troy Calypso** had a personal medical team with this level of equipment within the Cathedral felt _unwelcome_.

He wasn’t used to that after all, not _knowing_ things. He’d _known_ practically everything since he and Eli had made it out and they’d started the basics of what the poor fuckers who lived on this shithole called “a life”. Ven wasn’t sure he would call it that, but it could be worse. They were breathing, there was food in their bellies, and now this - medical care and a _home_ where shooting either of them meant angering a pair of sociopaths with God complexes they had contracts of employment with, so hey. They were doing _ok_ by Pandoran standards.

He didn’t like not knowing things, though. The Rid-tech construct eating into what was left of his right arm had left _not_ knowing things frightening. Anyway, Eli was going to break the silence in about 3 seconds so he should stop worrying about this shit and get his game face back on. That was clear in every thread that swam in the sight behind his eyes, that was definitely going to happen just about n-

“Nah but.. like.. **VEN**. ” Eli tugged at his sleeve coat sleeve, leaning carefully over the edge of the inspection bed.

“Thanks. I’m allowed say it even if you try and make out you didn’t do anything. I _know_ you worked to get us here, and I’m going to make sure you know I appreciate it - ‘cause you can’t actually stop me, you dick.” his lower lip quivered in fake sadness before being covered with the cheeky pink tongue he stuck out.

Ven would have loved to slap his hand away all theatrically, but it was probably a bad idea. He’d break at least a couple of digits, and much as Eli would pretend he was used to bones as fragile as glass breaking almost daily, it would still _hurt_ , so he laughed instead - subtly giving his brother the finger from where his hand rested on the outer shell of his construct arm.

Little **fucker**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	83. Decorations and damages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Tyreen**

Public:

  * _Covered_ in piercings.
  * Loves them, holy shit. She loves them?? She can take them out, have the piercing close instantly, and swap around new patterns and layouts for new aesthetic ideas _whenever she wants_.
  * Was absolutely _terrified_ of getting her first one - Troy did it for her when they were 22, and she can distinctly remember the terror as she smushed her face into her hands and begged him to just get it over with God, Troy, PLEASE, just go? GO! While he belly laughed and tried to explain that she wasn’t even going to _feel it_.
  * He was right, like always. He’d been overly prepared in typical Troy fashion, and the needle had been so quick and well practiced for that she barely even managed a slight sting before completely healing. The wound was so tiny that **The Leech** sealed it before it got a chance to throb even once.
  * _Loved_ it after. Realised she could just do it any time she wanted and not even have to flinch from how minor the pain was, and regularly does all her own body piercing now.
  * Changes her facial piercings so often that people assume they are clip-ons, they aren’t, she’s just an expert at this point and has become a genuine trendsetter for a lot of body decoration fans on Pandora.



Private:

  * Her left hand scarring is something she keeps hidden in general, as is the large separation scar running from under her breasts to her navel.
  * She’s actually super proud of the stomach one, thinks it looks fuckin’ badass, but she knows flaunting it would cause a negative ripple through her perceived persona and keeps herself covered. Shameless about it in private. Actually shows it off quite a lot to anyone she’s close enough with.
  * Doesn’t like talking about the hand.
  * Please just don’t bring it up. Her shift between faux casual happiness to _actual hurt_ is a rare one, and it’s not pleasant to witness… or _safe_ to.



* * *

##  **Troy**

Public:

  * Troy uh… doesn’t have a _lot_ physically that a huge amount of people haven’t had direct experience with, so most of his mod work and decoration is well known.
  * He’s got plenty of piercings, mods, tats, but not exactly many of them could be considered _private_ anymore.
  * Dude is shockingly body confident (considering what he _does_ hide) and is one of those men who needs to be asked to please, _please_ put on clothes and not just be in his underwear if people are going to be visiting his Sanctum. Almost shameless. Won’t think twice about only wearing loose pants and fuck all else while friends are around.
  * His facial markings do extend far into his hairline and around his ear before fading above his nape, but he’s not exactly hiding that, his hair’s just too dummy thicc to see it through.
  * Tat wise, his arm and back work is something that’s rarely _really_ seen and he finds that a bit of shame.
  * He did the chest-piece himself, something he is _very_ proud of even if he doesn’t talk about it, but the shoulder/arm and back work are beautifully detailed and almost entirely lost to his siren markings and implant now.
  * He had them done early COV when the Holy City was starting to take root. Heard fantastic things about an artist who’d recently setup shop in the middle district, and liked the guy’s work _almost_ as much as he appreciated his _silence_.
  * It wasn’t just the metal jaw keeping his mouth shut, he had a good head and enough common sense to know broadcasting about _Inking the God King_ would be a bad idea.
  * Troy still loves the work even if it’s rarely seen now, and often drops Vic’s shop name and location as a recommendation when his tats are fawned over by drooling fans.. or _friends_.



When it comes to privacy, there are only really 2 aspects of his appearance he _does_ hide.

  * The self inflicted damage under his bracer is _beyond_ private. As time goes on he becomes more comfortable with removing the bracer itself and revealing the pressure padding underneath, but before the padding? 
  * Before Sei had demanded that he start taking _care of himself_ as she sobbed into his chest, he wouldn’t show _anyone_.
  * That’s one of his greatest losses of control, and it went on for far too long. Years of open wounds and scratch marks on skin that could barely heal in the first place. He get’s _better_ about showing it, but never uncovered. Feeling safe enough to show it without the bracer is improvement enough.
  * Troy has some hidden tattoos, red ink, the same dull as his markings when not glowing, running up the heart line of his forearm underneath the loops and whorls of his stripes.
  * It was just one name for a long time, shakily inked with a hand far too big and cumbersome to do it neatly, but it meant the world to him regardless. Someone he missed desperately and could never meet again, etched in permanent memory within his markings.
  * He added a second name when he dropped to his worst, after another loss he thought was permanent.
  * They remain private for years till he starts getting smaller initials added hidden within the existing tattoos on his shoulder and arm, tiny letters alongside the lines, inside the eye of a skull socket, little reminders of friends he’ll always carry.
  * He shows her on the first peaceful night, when the dust has settled and no more blood needs to be spilled. Presses down on his forearm and breaths deep, willing the now brilliant glow to fade as dull as it can, revealing the names in deep red.
  * Always been a fool for grand gestures.



* * *

##  **Seifa**

Public:

  * No tattoos till late COV, couple of months after things feel _right_ again. Always loved the idea of them but could never settle on one. Nothing in her life ever really felt stable enough to etch into her skin, and she’d only want one with _meaning_ …
  * Get’s a small, delicately pale full moon on her inner left wrist. Both a promise of permanence, and a reminder of a soul that hasn’t been lost. She’d not explain it to anyone she wasn’t intensely close with, it’s not her past to discuss. If you know, _you know_.
  * Other than that, she’s p vanilla as Pandora goes. Plenty of ear piercings, the labret, septum, eyebrow, has some more but you’d have to earn seeing those.



Private:

  * Her right eye is wrecked. She doesn’t talk about this publicly, at all. In fact, she doesn’t talk about it to _anyone_. She lost depth perception and some focus in it when the E-Dev she’d been trying to strip for components as a teen blew in her face and left her with the mild scarring.
  * The eye itself has no visually obvious damage, but it’s there behind the cornea and Sei can _miss_ door handles sometimes. Extend a hand to catch something that sails by. Has a larger magnifier overlay on her right welding lens than the left.
  * She will play it all off as nothing, but people close enough to her to pay attention will _eventually_ pick it up.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	84. Troy asks and HC responses - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

[ ](https://border-spam.tumblr.com/post/190466324251/would-troy-ever-let-his-so-see-the-scars-under/amp)

Anonymous

asked:

Would Troy ever let his S/O see the scars under his bracer? If so, what would that first time be like? Would he be nervous? Defensive? Would he try to avoid it as long as possible?

* * *

Answering this _based on the Troy I write_ , it’s a solid **yes** , but would require such a level of trust and complete vulnerability that even getting to the point where he could consider it without instantly being repulsed would take _years_ of a very close relationship (platonic or other) with him.

Everything under that thing is exactly what he has spent so much effort and time trying to distance himself from. It’s everything he left behind when he left his father, his home, and changed his name and appearance. 

Revealing it to someone else is undoing every layer of armor he’s built around himself mentally, and nervous wouldn’t be the right word. He’d be in full panic, he’d be on the verge of a meltdown. He’d be a shaking, nauseous mess.

Troy’s entire aesthetic he’s built is based on looking intimidating and physically powerful. The massive prosthetic draws unabashed attention to his damaged side, to stress he’s not ashamed. He _wants_ you to see _. He dares you to pretend you don’t notice. **Look** **at it**. _

It bulks out his delicate frame, makes him look far larger than he is, same for his coat and huge fur collar _( don’t get me started on the DeLeon + wearing a mane connection )._

The mods, tattoos, chains and spikes, it’s all to make him look rough, sharp, aggressive.

Don’t pay attention to his dangerously low body fat or visible ribcage, don’t notice how thin his neck and arm is _, notice everything else instead._

What he can’t hide is under the bracer. It can be covered up, but once it’s visible, he can’t distract from it. He can’t make it look strong, or intimidating. His persona can’t make it anything else but what it is. 

It’s the visible proof that he’s not a God. That he’s bonded forever to Tyreen, that she’s the stronger one. That he was _cut off_ her like a defect.

It’s Troy DeLeon, and a childhood where there was no need to hide who he was around his family, that he left behind and buried deep.

It’s weak, jagged scar tissue he can’t bulk up with muscle.

He’d avoid showing it for as long as he could. It would be the final part of him he’d ever let anyone else see, because it’s the part of him he can’t pretend is God King Calypso.

It’s the _truth_ , really.

* * *

* * *

[](https://border-spam.tumblr.com/post/190466324251/would-troy-ever-let-his-so-see-the-scars-under/amp) Maw is rlly good but I personally like the idea of Troy having his skag-mouth as a birth defect from Tyreen leeching him in the womb. Makes for more sibling/family drama, which I inhale like a gas-huffer.

* * *

I’m _here_ for drama, yesss. Would actually love to see this idea being used! There is so much there for doing juicy shit with the twins, at the end of the day, both of the nasty little shits are abominations from a galactic power standpoint, so why not go wild with the monster aspect, eh?

##  My own worldbuilding brain is funky though. Part of why I enjoy doing dives into characters and lore so much, is that I love finding ways to make things make sense, and **Troy** existing _at all_ in Borderlandsdoes not make _any._

__

So something lots of folks mentioned pre-release was that if the twins were going to be conjoined, they would have to be the same sex. It’s just not medically feasible to have xy/xx conjoined twins as they come from the same embryo split in two but not _fully_. The only option was they could be chimeric but that didn’t really suit what we were seeing either.

I remember that causing a wave cause holy shit, were we going to get a trans villain and could anyone trust GB to handle that without it being a trainwreck? I’m still happy they used word of god instead cause oof. I don’t want to think of how that could have gone down considering how both these characters ended up being used within the plot anyway. 

That means my smooth, analytically obsessed brain has to come up with _other_ explanations for the absolute fuckery that is the Calypso twins and how the hell they exist in the first place when they couldn’t have formed conjoined, and that’s one of the reasons I couldn’t use this kind of extra fun shit like a natural monster mouth being why it’s so heavily modded. I needed to try and fix Troy so he… made _sense_ to me. 

Bit of a medical dive into the absolute state of this man under the cut:

We end up with two fraternal twins.

Not identical in the slightest and very noticeable about that in their appearance. It’s not just the height difference, Tyreen’s undercut is dark brown, not Troy’s inky black. Their facial shapes vary massively and not just due to hormones, Ty’s eyes have a cheeky lil’ cat eye slope while Troy’s are sadder, leaning downwards at the outside curve. There’s very little to actually make them even look like siblings bar their colouration, but we still have what we know:

> They were born conjoined, Troy had to be cut from Tyreen, and that’s likely why he has one arm.

Keep in mind his arm is literally _never mentioned once_ in BL3. _Not ONCE_. No one ever references the twin’s childhoods bar Troy, so we actually have no idea if the arm loss is _ **even related**_ to being conjoined. 

We just all HC’d that as a fandom with no evidence, not even a hint of information regarding this was provided and I think that’s something we forget about often enough as it’s so widely accepted Troy was born without his right arm. Actually strange to think about that, ain’t it?

But I’m rambling - so, I figured we have two fraternal twins, sharing some kind of horrific all-consuming monster entity power between them. One can do fuck all bar embarrass himself and faint, and the other can’t STOP her power functioning to the point she can’t touch anything without consuming it.. so my idiot worldbuilding brain says “Hey. Well, that’s clearly what happened then. They were in the same womb, she started to _consume him_.” Logic. 

Logic works for me, so it stuck. 

Made sense that it’s how he’s a Siren at all when the entire cosmos has said Sirens are women, he’s one because the power that was consuming him filled his little body enough to see **him** as **itself** , so it stopped - leaving the developing twins joined, and half of Troy’s torso lost to Tyreen.

I can’t justify much else to my fact hungry thought processes, the skag mouth wouldn’t work for me because I can’t fit it in, him being a natural Siren doesn’t work for me cause it can’t fit either, but it does open an avenue of logic for my brain to start following down, and that’s why in Leech Lord, Troy is so desperately unwell. 

Growing up barely having survived being consumed in utero is not going to go very well when you’ve no medical assistance living on a shitty little dirthole planet with your dad.

Damaged organs from **_The Leech_** feeding as he grew, out of wack hormones ravaging a body that couldn’t really regulate them correctly in puberty leading to _massive_ growth spurts and bone structure issues, no proper nutrition, starving half the time as his size outpaced the amount of food he and Typhon could scavenge, it all comes together into a very delicate health balance. 

We already know Troy is very unwell at times from what we see ingame, it made sense to me, so I ran with this line. 

He’s sick when he doesn’t want to be, he’s weak when it’s an embarrassment to the character role he’s playing. He covers himself in tattoos and aggressive mods to try and combat looking delicate, so he can lie to himself that he’s not _pitiful_ and bolsterhis fragile ego. The massive, hulking prosthetic is there to MAKE you look at it. A way of proving how unashamed he is of the damage to his right side, and it _works_. 

The gullible believe, the stupid remain easy to control, and billions see him as a God, rather than the truth - that he’s a very sick, very delicate _man_.

A lot of what I do with Troy is there to support the underlaying character I’ve tried to write for him in some desperate attempt to try and make the bastard have some logical excuse to exist in the first place. 

If I’d gone down the route of having his Maw be something that wasn’t self inflicted, I would have gone off track with the direction I was taking him in, even though I am WEAK for that kind of monster level shit.. Mmm. 

I remember being asked:

##  Would troy have gotten the face mod if Seifa hadn't left?

* * *

* * *

  * Hugely into any puzzle / collection echo games (think puzzle and dragons), and uses them to relax very often in private. Finds puzzle games really destress him and help him sleep. Has spent an _insane_ amount of money in them.


  * Keeps his own personal coffers and the amount he spends wouldn’t even be noticeable against his almost infinite wealth , but he’d be _intensely embarrassed_ if anyone found out how much God King Calypso spends on gatchas.


  * Hair is naturally very thick, his iconic hairstyle was originally born out of frustration after going for a bandit mohawk, realising _how much work that was going to be every day_ , then swiping it all forwards and hoping for the best.


  * Has v little torso hair but does pluck the patchy little bits he grows for the _aesthetic, bitch_.


  * Incredibly hygienic for a Pandoran, but more so with his oral hygiene than anything else. Had to keep a rigorous cleansing routine for the first few months after his jaw mod and just kept it up from then on.


  * Understands a huge amount of different languages, but not fluently. Leda taught him the basics of a lot of language cores and he can understand and read a lot relatively well. Cant speak or write them though, and keeps this skill close to his chest.


  * He’s intensely clever and realised early how useful it was to understand what sponsors were saying to each other in “private” by using another language during meetings with the twins. He’s turned having his intelligence underestimated so often into a weapon he wields with _great_ skill.


  * His hand writing is atrocious. He can read it fine, but not even Tyreen can half the time. Almost proud of having his own shitty shorthand code he can use for notes.


  * Can count the amount of times he’s worn underwear by choice on his one hand since adulthood. Didn’t have any on Nekrotafeyo, and fuck it. Freedoms comfortable and let’s you have _very_ low slung pants.


  * Very low slung pants are _very_ good at distracting possible competitors/business partners enough during interactions to either cause them to slip up, or underestimate his cunning again. Either works fine for him, he gets attention, and the upper hand. Win win.


  * Snores _really_ bad from a combo of mods and compromised respiratory system. Modded tongue tends to slowly extend the deeper his sleep gets, and he’s woken up with it over his eyes before. Will completely deny he snores, _only Tyreen has heard it and she’s clearly lying, right?_


  * Did most of his own piercings and barely flinched. Full on _SOBBED_ after he pierced his nips. Sat on his bathroom floor for an hour waiting for the pain to pass while strongly second guessing his life decisions.


  * Gets extremely emotionally invested in classical music / soundtracks and falls asleep listening to his fave playlists often. Has nicer dreams when he does than if he doesn’t, and also feels like it helps boost his creativity while working. Doesn’t know why.


  * A combo of keeping his neck covered under the collar, and the scarring on his throat, has left it hyper sensitive when uncovered. A caress will instantly have him snapping viciously or melting into a gasping mess of goosebumps and shivers depending on _who’s hand it was_.


  * Super comfortable with nudity, his self esteem issues are focused on his body’s layout and the self perceived damage/disfunction of it, nudity doesn’t come into play at all.


  * That is, as long as his bracer is on. What’s under the bracer is the one part of his body he would be _terrified_ of showing to someone he valued in a vulnerable situation. Any COV worshipper stupid enough to think just because they can touch him naked means they could try and touch under the bracer is going to _really miss_ their hand afterwards ( _if they are still alive to miss it_ ).


  * Would love to be able to play a musical instrument well but he’s struggled with any he tried before as only his existing hand is dextrous enough for one. Would really appreciate and treasure someone with the patience and kindness to teach him, but knows that would mean dropping the God King persona, and can’t justify damaging their reputation just for something that would make _him_ happy.


  * Gets recognised instantly regardless of how he dresses or looks, which he loathes. There is no way to hide his height or build, let alone the markings on his face. Really misses being able to just _wander and explore_ like he could in the COV’s early days.


  * Really, really, really _loves_ food, but his ill health means he can’t eat the way he’d like and often has to avoid foods he wished he could eat more. God King Calypso is known for being exceptionally choosy about the food he eats. In reality, Troy just can’t trust a lot of the overly rich food he’s served.


  * Massively enjoys cooking in his Sanctum when alone, and would treasure doing so for anyone he sees as a friend. Has, very rarely in the past, and loved seeing how surprised they were _that he’s not useless at it._


  * Solely drinks alcohol to get drunk, can’t really taste beer very well and doesn’t enjoy most spirits. He’s a functional alcoholic but would deny he _relies_ on it or other drugs ( _he absolutely does_ ) and blows off concern from medics as it being something he chooses to do, not needs.


  * Wishes he could smoke Pandoran weed but wouldn’t risk the damage to his weak lungs, tends to make tea with what he grows in his ship, shares it with Tyreen a lot. She can’t touch plants, so he has no problem doing the green thumb work and sharing with her when she needs to relax.


  * Unless their dad had thought it to them or they saw it in an echo show, then the twins had no grasp of basic social do’s and don'ts when they reached Pandora.


  * Troy would have no problem sitting in a merger meeting picking his nose while Tyreen scratched her ass in front of board members. They learned a lot of their social skills _the hard way_ , having been asked to _please, please stop_ by priests and saints.


  * Has never won a burping competition against Tyreen in his life. Is genuinely irritated by this.


  * Can’t dance. Can strut and pose, has a great sense of rhythm, just cannot for the life of him do anything dance wise. Please don’t ask him to it will end in tears (his).


  * Savant with numbers, sees them as patterns like his dad did. Thought everyone could till he met people on Pandora. Gets aggressively frustrated with anyone who he needs to explain his process for reaching a mathematical conclusion to, because they _never get it_.


  * Complete idiot tier for animals. Likes them a lot, just doesn’t know what any of them are and no one is in a position to correct him without risking embarrassing the God King publicly and having their neck snapped.


  * Calls everything he sees a Skag. Rakks? Flying Skags. Bullymongs? Arm Skags. Skags? “ _Those bitchin lil’ mouth dudes._ ”


  * Really enjoys art and has a beautiful defined style with spray paint. Dumbs it down for propaganda, but his Sanctum is filled with canvases that are experimental colour and line pieces. Very much likes working with holy iconography but tends to only illustrate Tyreen this way in his own time..


  * Spends a lot of hours in the Mechanicum and knows a _lot_ of the Tinks in higher leadership position by name. Likes to talk engineering with them and feels comfortable enough to drop a lot of the God King persona and actually _enjoy_ the conversation.


  * A Troy who’s excited and interested in a discussion is all twinkling eyes and gentle, eager smile. He often has to remind himself to shift back into persona mid conversation, and it can be quite.. sad.. to see him go from so clearly happy, back to an icy, scathing asshole.


  * _Incredible_ at lying but cannot bluff _for shit_. Play any card game with him and he has instant facial tells (squints and sticks his tongue slightly out the side of his mouth when looking at his cards). Doesn’t understand why he could never win against his dad or Tyreen, probably never will.


  * Would never wear his reading glasses publicly, thinks they completely destroy his overall aesthetic and lines of his face mods. Won’t accept his’s wrong about this from anyone, though he personally likes how much more like _himself_ he looks when wearing them in private.


  * Tyreen was so sick of seeing his ass crack, she was the one who _suggested_ the overly tight belt that became part of his outfit. All his pants that are the right length are far too wide in the waist for his narrow hips. He could just get fitted ones now, but the low slung waist line + belt combo is part of his look at this point.


  * Incredibly high pain tolerance for almost everything, says he barely felt the tattoos and genuinely means it. The _constant pain_ from the bracer and damaged shoulder joint has let him numb to most other relatively low levels of pain.


  * Is an amazing kisser as long as what you enjoy is _the threat of being consumed alive_. Troy’s mouth is a self designed weapon, verbally and physically, and he’s never been in a position to learn to use it _tenderly_. Doesn’t let worshippers choose to kiss him when bedding them, and is aggressive with it if he chooses to kiss _them_.


  * Would love to learn how to be tender from someone who cared for _him_ and he felt safe enough with to allow his persona to slip and be vulnerable with, but as the years go on and the God King becomes more in control, Troy has become resigned to the fact that it’s something he will never have.


  * Very self conscious about his hygiene and showers usually twice daily if he can. Everything on Pandora is covered in sweat and filth, and he can’t risk getting infections considering the amount of open ports along his body. Really enjoys scents and has a surprisingly large collection.


  * Gets highly irritated with public displays of affection. _Intensely, soul crushingly envious_.


  * This gets dangerous late God King era as he becomes more and more violent. People have learned to be _extremely_ careful to not show affection to each other in viewing distance of him _at all_ , or risk losing a limb. _Or worse_.


  * Sex drive only gets higher as time goes on. For the first few years he much preferred pleasuring himself rather than interacting with the squalid heaving masses of followers throwing their bodies at him, but by the time of the God King era in later COV years, he can’t _stand touching himself_ anymore. He doesn’t _want_ to touch his body, and the God King is more than happy to let others praise it nightly instead.


  * Sleeps with huge cushions he brushes off as being for comfort, but deep down he knows its because their weight and pressure helps him not feel so alone.


  * Squints a lot and is known for scowling, but it’s mostly due to terrible headaches. The dark eye makeup helps with the glare a little but he’s noticeably paler than his sister due to the bright sun causing them more often than not and him preferring to stay in the shade of indoors.


  * Has kept every single thing given to him out of kindness. Will keep sugar packets if someone brings him a coffee with one out of concern for him looking tired. If he feels it was done because they _like him_ and not out of respect for his title, he will keep anything he’s been given.


  * Most of the people who gave him these tiny things he’s kept.. well.. they aren’t around anymore (no one he’s gotten to know well chooses to stay very long ).. but he still likes to look through them sometimes when he needs to be reminded he’s _possible to like_.


  * The collection looks like a little box of trash to anyone else, but bar his old jacket his father made for him out of one of his own that he still keeps hidden away, it’s probably his most treasured possession.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	85. Dumbass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

##  ** Seifa **

  * 8 loss streak at cards with Ven and Eli
  * _**EIGHT**_.
  * Couldn’t cope, went from talking cocky bullshit and swanning around their table to grab her favourite spot against the wall, to swearing under her breath and stink eyeing Ven when he won for the 4th time.
  * How. She was good at poker. She was _made_ for poker, this wasn’t luck anymore - he was clearly cheating. Took no time accusing him of this either, brandishing a shaky lipstick tube at him like a switch blade, snarling that it wasn’t funny anymore and to stop using his jank-ass future bullshit to WIN.
  * Got smirked at lovingly, he _wasn’t!_ Swore on his damn life, a laughing Eli joined in and tried to help convince her. Ven wasn’t doin’ nothing, she was just _losing!_ This shit happens Sei, calm down!
  * Absolutely refused to, got more worked up as the drinks kept coming, the wins kept stacking against her, and whatever little injoke the brothers were enjoying apparently kept getting _funnier_.
  * Tried to storm out but only managed a half way confident wobble after way too many tequilas, swore up a storm that she’d _never come back_ , they weren’t worth her time, bled her dry and _cheated_. Eli had called after her that they’d see her for a rematch tomorrow.
  * They did, and she _kept losing_.
  * This went on over a week, her intense stubbornness refusing to acknowledge they were just better at poker. I mean they _couldn’t be_ , she’d been reading tells since she was FIVE. Her pride wouldn’t let her call it quits - she kept her coming back nightly, and her wallet kept getting slimmer.
  * It eventually all made sense on the final night when she was ready to flip their goddamn table and Eli was on the verge of needing an oxygen mask with how hard he was pushing his lungs laughing at her red-faced little egotistical shithead tantrums.
  * He managed to catch it all on E-Time with Troy, the **_exact_** moment she finished another volley of slurs and turned to grab her coat, catching her filthy glare in the wall mirror as she did.
  * The mirror she’d been sitting in front of… every night.



* * *

##  **Tyreen and Troy \- Early COV**

  * Some of the bandit clans _like Troy better_. It doesn’t upset her, people think it would but it doesn’t, it makes sense. Her brother and her are very different, there have always been the groups who shrink away from her and side-eye him in awe, just like there were ones who’d carve their own skin off to offer her praise and not even _notice_ her brother.
  * The brute clans, the muscle, those always seem to swarm to the God Queen. The Slabs, the Rippers, the cannibal hoards covered in gore and screaming for glory, but the _others_ always flock to her brother. The schemers and the more technically orientated like the Tink-Tanks and Bloodshots… then there’s the _Rats_.. but she doesn’t like to think about those.
  * She prefers not accompanying him when he’s visiting a compound she _knows_ he’ll get all the attention in, I mean, what would be the point in the end? She’d rather just stay home and wallow in priest’s adoration, but _he_ was harder to convince.
  * He was meant to have left hours ago but was still prowling around the cloister, muttering and complaining to himself as he rushed to try and organise content. If he goes, who’s going to cover the editing? They’ve 4 uploads ready for posting but he’s not scheduled them yet, who’s going to organise it? What about the media tags, there’s a merch push that has to be released 2.5 hours prior and blah blah blah _blah_.
  * She told him to shut the hell up and leave it to **her**. She’d got this, bro! Stop worrying, it’s _no problem_ , everything would be fine. She could manage this without breaking a sweat, just fucking _shut up and leave_ already, the escort caravan was hours overdue.
  * He’d narrowed suspicious eyes at her and asked if she was SURE about this, they had sponsor contracts for the upload times, shit _had_ to go up when it was due to or they’d breach _serious_ deals, and she’d groaned sarcastically at him. Just _go_. This stuff is _easy_. Of _course_ she can do it. If he can, she can. **Duh**.
  * Troy had gone silent for a moment, glaring daggers as he hissed out controlled breaths, then turned and stalked out of the cloister - the crackling atmosphere dragging behind him like a stormcloud.
  * Idiot. She had everything sorted _that hour_. Queued the whole list at staggered intervals, date and times scheduled and planned exactly as he’d left notes for. _Easy_ , just like she’d said.
  * Tyreen woke up to an e-dev on the verge of crashing and Troy’s contact alerts covering the homescreen in flashing warning panels that made her eyes swim.



> _What the fuck did you DO. WHERE ARE THE UPLOADS?? 6 hours late, 3 flays missing, one product review, ALL THE SPONSOR MERCH DROPS. FUCKING MORON, WHERE ARE THEY._

  * Her stomach dropped as she checked the queue. Empty. Gone. **Nothing**. Where were they… she’d.. scheduled everything?? It was done, she’d triple checked before bed she’d… when she noticed the date in the screens corner, time froze around her.
  * It was the 1st. She’d scheduled for the 30th… _and last month had 29 days_. System error, queue wiped, content _gone_.
  * All his media team’s work, his editing, she.. she hadn’t backed up the files, why would she have? It was done it was all done she.. she..
  * She couldn’t handle replying. Knew it was just making things _worse_ but couldn’t do it. Felt her guts turn inside out at the thought, so climbed under her duvet to wait in dread. Easier to block things out right now than face what was coming. Easier to pretend.
  * He said _nothing_ when he got back. No contact, straight into Sanctum and at work placating enraged sponsor contacts, organising his team to botch together replacements from cuts, covering the COV’s ass silently and efficiently as always.
  * Said nothing, till she got a ping later that night -



> I’ll be controlling content management fully from this point on, keep out of my way and stick with whatever the fuck kind of things YOU have talent in… if any.
> 
> I mean hell, having an IQ high enough to know how to count days clearly ain’t one of them is it, you IDIOT.

  * Doesn’t matter that she knew she deserved it, or that she’d been such a tool to him while insisting she had it covered, that stuck with them after. He’d been too blunt, and she was never able to shake the confirmation that her brother really **did** think she was _stupid_.



Ven and Eli belong to the amazing [@hieroglyphix](https://tmblr.co/mO-I_3tkR08pC9ATrfNBJQA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	86. Sight and steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

He’s long sighted just like Typhon. Was pretty useful for hunting back then, and it took his parents far too long to realise _that’s_ why he made such scowly little faces while they were teaching them, or when he’d spend hours in bed reading through glitchy old files filled with adventure stories and high fantasy.

To his shame, Typhon only clocked what the problem was when Troy was 10 and he had been watching him one evening, slowly moving the E-Dev further and further away from his face as daylight waned to lamplight and it became harder to make out the words.

He still doesn’t hugely like reading in public, gets _very squinty_ , tends to have to step back from signs once or twice to bring them into focus.

Monitors aren’t so bad, he’s usually fine with those, but there is definitely something different about how he looks at people when he is and isn’t wearing his glasses.

Without, in close proximity, you’ll rarely see him not scowl. Eyelids are usually tight, brow furrowed, it’s part of why he’s got a reputation for irritability even though he’s rarely actually frustrated with the person he’s glaring at.

Glasses on and he’s softer, de-ages years, eyes wider and not pinched. He also _looks_ at you differently. He really looks, shifting between your mouth, eyes, lips, mapping out details he _never quite_ gets to see while he’s in persona. It’s noticeable.

Contacts have never been an option on Pandora, the air is far too dry, and he _hates_ medical procedures far more than he hates his eyesight.

##  **The Mechanicum :**

Her “office” in the Holy City’s construction district is tacked onto the end of a massive hangar most of the Oil-Fingers work in, nearly a mile long of open floor dotted with hundreds of vehicles, looted tech, and _teeming_ with engineers.

It’s loud, hot, and it’s welcoming. Constantly busy, but you can hear laughter between the grind of machinery, camaraderie under the metallic screeches. Tinks, off-planet travelling mechanics, COV fanatics with tech skills, anyone who’s part of the Engi dept will eventually find themselves here, and Ur-Machina’s office quarters are on the northern end - suspended on stairs above the floor level, built with their back along one of the massive building-sized generators that provides the hangar with electricity. Her ship docks on the roof above it.

The office has two floors, with a large mag-lock door serving as the entrance. Means when she shuts down entry, she _really_ shuts down entry. 

The bottom floor is an open plan personal engineering bay reached through a narrow hallway from the mag-door, that’s surrounded by shelving and containers covered and filled with scrap and tools. The bay itself can contain anything, but usually personal requests from other Saints, or prototypes she’s working on directly or is managing the project of. 

It’s cool and relatively dark, with string-lights woven through the wooden frames of the ceiling and supporting pillars. Directly above it, accessed from a small stairway, is her actual Saint quarters, which is a very cluttered but _very_ neat and well organised small office backed by the hulking metal generator it’s built against.

A large desk for herself, a _very_ fancy huge leather chair for her to sprawl in behind it, and 2 shitty little stools in front of it she takes great pleasure in making the assholes who request meetings with her sit in.

The ceiling hangs with pieces of tech, bags of goods, a suspicious amount of herb bundles, and little pieces of jewellery she’s made. They shift and twinkle in the light from the makeshift fireplace she _INSISTED_ be installed in the wall to the left of her desk, that’s scrapped together from steel chem barrels and some old piping.

Everything has a place, everything has a function, and if you ever ask for a 3.4q exo cable with a 2mm adapter, she’ll point you at the _exact_ drawer that specific wire will be in inside the beautiful antique wooden dressers that line the office. Do _not touch_ anything else, she has it just the way she wants it.

It smells like hardwood, soap, and rosin in there. It’s warm, it’s homely, and if she’s not catching a sneaky nap on top of the generator out of sight, she’s at her desk, running number reports or watching 3AM echonet trash.

Either is as likely.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	87. Words of wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

****

* * *

##  **Troy**

**Jim**. Might be Jim Rosk or K'Rosk or another kinda Rosk, he's not sure, Sei never told him and Jim's not around anymore to ask either - but he thinks about _Jim often_.

Crotchety old asshole who was part of the original engineering teams Sei roped into bolstering the growing Mechanicum in her first year of running it. He'd been part of the migrant group that had a 12 month contract and would be on his way with the rest soon as whatever favor he owed her was paid back. No loyalty to the cult and no interest in its Gods, with zero patience for bullshit in general. He was gnarled hands, grey streaked hair, and _completely_ blind.

He’d worked out of small office closed off from the rest of the hangar with a couple of other specialists, facing the entrance to Seifa's elevator. Complained _constantly_ about the noise and distraction the rest of the fleet caused as they worked, till he eventually swapped to complaining about the _noise and distraction_ the hulking man-child that kept awkwardly stumbling around his workroom was causing instead.

He _never_ asked Troy's name, not the first time he'd thrown a wrench at the unwelcome intruder when he'd wandered through the side office’s doorway after growing bored of waiting for Sei, and not over the _6 months_ he found excuses to keep accidentally finding his way in there.

Jim would moan about _everything._ He'd tell Troy the absolute truth others would be too worried to put into words. He’d gripe about the state of the organisation, failures, _stupid_ decisions he'd heard about and knew better than, which priests were abusing staff, who was readying knives behind who’s backs, how people _really_ felt about the twins..

If he knew that the "dumb fucking kid" that he scolded while they asked stuttered questions about how he understood what socket size the delicate trigger apparatus he was repairing was using just by _touch_ was God-King Calypso, he either did not give a fucking shit, or had a death wish. Troy figured over time it was the former, considering the way the much older man would rip into him for being too slow at handing a component he was ordered to grab, or too stupid to _NOT_ know the difference between an a-32 and an ab-88 just by the weight of it in his palm - but there was warmth in those grumbling insults, and they kept Troy coming back.

Troy rarely spoke at all bar to ask questions, eager to learn from a man who's disability hadn't prevented him becoming an absolute master of a trade. His indifference towards Gods, Saints, his complete lack of giving a shit in general about a chain of command that had done nothing to earn his respect, the _confidence_ in himself and his beliefs, in his opinions - anything Jim shared, the God King sat quietly and _listened_ to.

Troy had never encountered anyone like this before, so unafraid of, well, _anything_. So at ease with being themself, even if who they were was grumpy, and irritable, and frustrated the fuck out of everyone around them.

Jim never asked his name, but when he'd scuttled into the little workshop at the end of his tenure and found it empty, the workbench hadn't been.

A note next to a custom Torque pistol - delicate custom mounted plating running across the casing, and a handmade trigger.

> “ **The only way you can control people is to lie to them**. “

> \- Keep true to yourself, boy. Don’t let anyone control _you_.

* * *

##  **Seifa**

**Aunty**. _Everyone_ says the same things about Aunty, Ven would swear Aunty had saved his life multiple times and not just with greasy noodles, but Sei _really_ does think this woman might have shaped aspects of her in ways that she couldn’t fathom another person could, or would have been able to uh… _reach_.

The woman is used to slums, she knows how to create something homely out of scrap and old woks. Born in the great maze of Partali’s, she’s carried a wealth of experience in how to _exist_ happily in them to the Holy City’s.

Suhanisa Dalal-Kulkarni has gone by Aunty for YEARS, easier for off worlders and especially idiot ones like Seifa who work themselves into an embarrassed mess when they continuously mispronounce it, but while she cultures such an ease of trust and familiarity around her kitchen shack that draws in customers just as strongly as the fragrances roaring out of her open fire pans, she will tell you truths that cut like _ice_.

Auntie’s life has not been anything close to kind, she’d been in Old Haven. She remembers. 

A son, lost in crossfire. A grandchild, shortly after to fever. Aunty wears her heart on her sleeve and speaks of her losses like old friends . No shyness, no awkward silences, she lives the truth of her history _shamelessly_ , and her strength in that is something Seifa found hard to shrug off.

Aunty reassures her customers - her friends. She listens and she tells you advice born from decades as you wipe soy off your cheek while chewing, but she’s so _unafraid_ of kindness. She’s so open about the losses, the hardships, she’ll tell you without any fear or regret. She takes people’s condolences with a smile and a nod, she _lives_ for a quick embrace goodbye. Gifts, tips, gang members dropping ingredients by her shack door she won’t pay a cent for, she takes kindness back without so much as a blush.

Sei can’t understand that, the strength it must take to be so open, the _power_ to wear your vulnerability without fear of reprisal or harm.

Aunty tells her sometimes on those quiet late nights alone, when the rest of the city is either asleep or doing something more important than listening to the whispered conversation over her squeaky little counter, tells her she knows what she’s seeing when she looks at the other woman.

Tells her in that rich, sing song accent that she knows a mask when one’s staring at her, that she see’s Sei is surrounded by people wearing them too. It’s hard not to hide when everyone has secrets. It’s hard not to want to crawl under armor when you’re surrounded by strength.

Aunty tells Seifa to be careful, that masks have their uses for protection, but never to _hide_. Is she hiding behind hers or protecting others with it. She should think, Aunty whispers as she packs leftovers into a stained paper box. She should think about how happy seeing her real face would make the people she loves, just like how many people _love Aunty_ , eh?

* * *

Ven and Eli belong to [@hieroglyphix](https://tmblr.co/mO-I_3tkR08pC9ATrfNBJQA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	88. The writing's on the wall (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

Tonight was just them, happy in the afterglow of laughter and _far_ too much to drink. That calm quiet that falls with trusted company you can be at ease around. It was _nice_.

She’d assumed he felt the same way from the barely audible whistle of his breathing to her right. Figured that he was relaxing too, enjoying the dull heat of wine numbing his joints and their usual simmering pain. It was good, it felt _right_ , until the peace was interrupted by the clink of his glass as he shifted, and the hoarse, strained whisper of -

“ You’re gonna leave one day, I know you will. I’ll chase you away. You’ll get sick of having to deal with me just l-like everyone does.”

The groggy cloud behind her eyes dissipated instantly as his threat landed like ice-water, and she clumsily sat forward, wineglass dangling from her loose hand as she stared at him in confused disgust.

“ _What?_ … What are you talking about.”

“ Don’t put that shit on me, **Troy**. Don’t… don’t even fucking _dare_ try to drip feed that self hating poison into who **_I_** am. God, what is _wrong_ with you? ”

He didn’t meet her eyes, still staring at the glass in his hands as he hunched in his seat, like he was about to crumble into himself. Looking somehow so much older and so much _younger_ than she knew he was - like a child carrying the weight of the world. He mouthed something, then stopped. Started again, paused again. Reconsidering what he’d been about to say as his brows furrowed and lips tightened into a grimace.

Chasing what he _wanted_ to express to her, grasping at it futilely, trying to find the right words and stumbling. Same self made snare as usual, tightening around his neck. The same trap he _always_ set for himself, triggering as he stepped blindly towards it.

He sunk a little lower into himself as he wilted under her disgust, hair falling forward and blocking the shame burning across his face.

“ I… I’m _sorry_ , Sei. ”

* * *

* * *

By [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw)

 **???** : She just drives me fuckin crazy man! She just- UGHH 

_??_ : She’s like fire. 

**???** : Yeah, a hot headed little- 

_??_ : NO. Can keep you warm, safe, give light to see by. But if you don’t treat it with respect, it you think that’s all it’s for, try to contain it, you’ll be burned. 

**???** : I don’t think that’s all… I-I respect her!!!! I can’t believe you’re taking her side in this!“ 

_??_ : No sides. Just something to think about. 

**???** : **Ughhh, screw this**! 

( _Sounds of a door slamming shut_ ) 

( _A few moments of silence_ ) 

**_??_** : I know…He’s gunna burn her out. _All of us_. 

_(Ding of a voice message being received_ ) 

**???** : Thanks. For listening. 

_??_ : Ha..we got him thinking. 

* * *

By [@hieroglyphix](https://tmblr.co/mO-I_3tkR08pC9ATrfNBJQA)

**S** : Wh- Ven?! what the fuck are you- _how_ the fuck did you get in here? 

**V** : Aw c'mon Sei, is that any way to treat a guest? I get that you’re a bigshot s-saint and all but c'mon– 

**S** : Last time I checked, people who break into other people’s houses are considered burglars, not guests- and get your fuckin’ feet off my desk!

 **V** : Hey now, just cause I broke in doesn’t mean I stole anything. Im more of a buddy, paying you an….impromptu visit! Yeah! 

**S** : ( _sigh_ ) God, forget the semantics of it all, what the hell do you want? 

**V** : It ain’t about what I want, I came here ‘cause of what _you_ want. 

**S** : …Pardon? Oh _God_ , tell me this isn’t some kind of-

 **V** : W _aitwaitwait_ it ain’t like that, S-Sei, you know i don’t run that way anyhow. I came because you need a s-sign. 

**S** : …A _sign_. 

**V** : Yeah, a sign. s-see, I know what you’re planning on doing, I’ve seen it all laid out in the path ahead of us. But you’re draggin’ your feet too damn long, and it’s only gonna get worse from here. so Sei, listen to me, I’m your sign. Get the fuck out of here, and don’t look back for nothin’. 

_( silence_ )

 **S** : So, let me get this straight. You broke into my house, just to….tell me to leave?

 **V** : Well when you put it like that it doesn’t sound super great, but…yeah.

 _( silence_ ) 

**S** : Who else knows about this? 

**V** : Only me, and I ain’t about to rat on you. I don’t blame you for wanting out, things….well, between you me and the floorboards, things ain’t gonna get any better around here. 

**S** : ( _deep sigh_ ) Good God… 

V: Look doll, I ain’t here to force you into a decision, and I won’t judge you for _not_ leaving. I’m just tellin’ you which way the wind’s blowing. One friend to another. 

**S** : Right. 

_( uncomfortable silence )_

**V** : Well, you think on what I said. I’ve gotta get home to my brother, it’s spaghetti night. 

**S** : Try not to let anyone see you on your way out, the last thing i need is _**more**_ brainless gossip out on my hangar. 

**V** : _Heh_. Not like they caught me on the way in, not exactly the sharpest tools out there. Anyway, nighty night Sei.

_( the maglock doors hiss open )_

**S:** And Ven? 

**V** : Yeah? 

**S** : …Thanks. 

**V** : Don’t mention it. 

**[end echo log]**

* * *

* * *

I’m just a bit shook up…” her voice cracks as she mutters. “He said some stupid shit tonight, bout how everyone leaves him and he knows it’s..” she sighs, letting her head drop to face the table with a weak shrug.

“Stupid as in.. it got to me. He ever say anything to you that’s just.. you know it’s _off?_ I sometimes think it’s me..”

JK waited patiently, wanting to reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder but not quite knowing if that would overstep their tentative friendship as it formed.

“…that I’m going crazy and feeling things that aren’t real, overreacting…” she pauses, swiping her auburn hair back from her forehead, thumbing at her temple as she lets her eyes stare unfocused at the wall behind their shoulder.

JK grunts thoughtfully, then shakes their head a little, their mask tilting downwards as they rumble out a huff of air. “He’s… _talking_ a lot more recently, yeah, bout things no one asked.”

They empty the bottle in a deep dreg, and lower it carefully to the table in front of them, spinning it slowly on its edge. “Like he’s replyin’ to a question that was never said, and he’s _pissed_ about it. Gets snappy at nothin’. Gets angry at **_nothin_** ’. I don’t say things, I just listen. He likes when you just listen, I think you know that too.”

She nods, watery eyes looking up at them through her thick eyelashes.

“It’s just, the thing’s he’s saying now, this last year?” JK glances to their side again, towards where Troy sleeps.

They turn back to Seifa and reach out then, touching a finger against her forearm as it rests against the table, happy to see she doesn’t flinch away even though she’s hurt too. Proud that though she’s struggling to hold back tears that swell along her lash-line, she’s still listening to them. Really listening, like what JK thinks _matters_.

“It’s the same kind of things axe-hands I knew in the clan would start to say before they’d go wrong. Harsh things to themselves, about themselves, about how _others_ were seeing ‘em. I don’t like that kind of talk much either, I’ve seen where it goes. People start doing that and they aren’t themselves for much longer. Become the same thing they were worryin’ everyone _already_ saw them as.”

They turn the bottle to its side, idly twirling it with their index finger, only the hollow grind of the glass on the table filling the silence.

“I’ve seen him goin’ the same way. Same way _they_ did, and I don’t know how to stop it, I’m not good with..” they gesture at the bone-white mask still marked with that crumbling splash of old rust-red blood, pausing to collect their thoughts. “..Not good with talking the way it would help. Saw him hurt acolytes the last few months. He used to just grab, threaten…”.

Their leg bounces beneath the table, nerves firing haphazardly as they swallow down the frustration lodged between their teeth. “Now he _grinds_. Cracks their bones in that metal fist. Not enjoyin’ it, not laughin’, but doin’ it anyway. He smells like bitter antiseptic sometimes, and I think he’s takin’ things out on himself where he figures we won’t know, **under** the steel.”

“I don’t think he is well. _Inside_ him. None of us are here, lady. We’re all broken a little, but we learn how to live with it. It’s that or die. He doesn’t _know_ how to do it. We gotta…”

“… we gotta watch out for our _brother_ ”.

* * *

By [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw)

He’d dare let venom drip about Seifa around them, and Troy knew from the palpable atmosphere change that it wasn’t going to be swept under the rug. He would have crumbled, he would have backtracked into sickening apologies, but after the grilling Tyreen had already given him? How helpless and powerless he already felt, _child_ was the straw that broke him.

He span on his heels to face them, spinal implants flaring and eyes all cruel angles and rage. It only took one or two stalking steps for them to be at odds face to face, not that he was sure what he’d do when he _got there_.

"The fuck was that _pal_?” He seethed, letting jaw plates click and flicker. They didn’t seem intimidated, too full of fury to even care.

“Ungrateful. Fucking. CHILD. She _made_ you, made both of you. Without her, you’d be skag shit right now.” They paused to look him up and down before continuing. “Instead of a shit-eating skag.”

His reaction was instant, flesh hand snapping forward to grab at the decorative chains around their neck he’d gifted them, pulling them close. “You fuckin-” he choked, mind clouded on what to do. He _wanted_ to smash them to bits, he wanted to pull their fucking head off, but he had enough control yet to hesitate.

“If you wanna spar big man, _let’s go_. You know the rules.” They spat. They’d set out a few of them a couple of months back, not really thinking it would come to it, more so sharing a part of clan life so he felt included. Clan members could fight out frustrations, as long as it didn’t go so far as to lose a body for raids or hunting. No using the prosthetic, no hitting Troys left side, no weapons. That was what they settled on, and now staring him down? They didn’t like the idea of fighting him, of fighting any family. Never had. But if he refused to _talk_ and instead was intent to act like this? They could find some satisfaction in landing a hit or two. 

Mention of that past conversation seemed to snap him out of it, hitting home just how far JK was willing to take this. They didn’t care about title or siren status, as far as they where concerned this was a family matter. And as far gone as he was, Troy had no intention of full on brawling with family. He pushed them away as he let go, face burning in shame and frustration as he backed down. 

“Not worth my fucking time…” he mumbled, storming away and letting a metal fist impact a wall as he went, one final show of force.

They stayed put after he was gone, head tilted back and taking deep breaths as they steadied themself. Seifa…didn’t need to know about this. She hardly needed defending and she’d scold them for almost coming to blows over a few nasty words but…They couldn’t have just bitten their tongue either. 

* * *

**Ven** \- “I mean boss, have you considered ever actually thinking about what _you_ want?" 

**Troy** \- ”…“  
  
 **Troy** \- ”… _Everything_. All the time. I want e-everything. _Everything_. **Everything I see** , _all the time_. The way you love Eli, and the way he smiles at you and it’s _real_ 'cause he _knows_ how to love, I want that.“

 **Troy** \- ”…I want it, and how Sei puts her arms around all of you and never me but she _looks_ at me and I feel s-something but I don’t know how to _say_ it in words, I want that.“

 **Troy** \- ”…I want Jak-Knife and the way their mask _a-and_ their face - _both_ of them are beautiful and better than anything I can pretend I see in a mirror and I want _everything all the time,_ Ven, and I don’t even **know if it’s me that’s actually wanting.** “

 **Ven** \- "Right…”  
  
 **Ven** \- “…Ok bud, so first of all, I’m going to get us some drinks…”

* * *

By [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw)

* * *

**–`Uroboros log` \- M0noli7h / S0litar3 prsnl e-dev com msg log //Private Line - _SAVED_ \- ~~blame=GKT~~ –**

  
  
_**Machina**_ : So _Adalphus_ is where you’re saying is the best bet.   
  
**Aurum** : Simple logic. Close enough to Pandora for you to still perform your role, far enough from.. well. What you need to _be far from_.   
  
**_Machina_** : Feels apt somehow, ending up wasting away on some off-world base. Never did belong here, huh.  
  
 **Aurum** : A feeling I understand better than I’d like. Regardless of our personal opinions you’ve been one of the few colleagues I’d describe as competent, A’Rosk. It’s a reassurance to know you aren’t abandoning your position.   
  
**_Machina_** : Mutual on that, Sol. Staying on isn’t by choice though. I’m sure you know that too. You remember Fragor.   
  
**Aurum** : I remember what was left of her absolutely ruining a pair of Ausler dress shoes, yes. You’re going to be hounded. You know that.  
  
 ** _Machina_** : I know that, I’m just praying it will be gently. The Crusaders are under Troy, and Troy..   
  
**_Machina_** : I  
  
 ** _Machina_** : I _trust_ Troy

 **Aurum** : That’s your prerogative, regardless of how _stupid_.  
  
 ** _Machina_** : _Thanks_ , you nasty shit. So you’ll manage the fund movements once I’m out, keep the flow going to the accounts I gave you?  
  
 **Aurum** : Yes, yes. Not exactly work deserving of my touch, mind you. Junkers leave residue. I prefer to keep my hands _clean_ , Seifa. I’m sure you appreciate that, considering this deal.   
  
**_Machina_** : Ohhhh absolutely. You scratch my back, I’ll stab yours.   
  
**Aurum** : Cute. I’ll manage your assets this side, and my little history with those slag shipments to Elpis will remain off your people’s raidar.  
  
 ** _Machina_** : That they will. Solomon, much as it pains me to say this, it has been a pleasure. Thank you. For.. for everything.   
  
**Aurum** : Not needed, Seifa. It’s just _good business_.  
  
 **[end log]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	89. What's your poison?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

##  **Troy**

Only has two modes when alcohol starts entering his system:

  * Rare glimpse into his magnetic, genuine self
  * **Troy.exe**



It’s usually the latter, sadly, and he’s learned to spot the telltale signs over the years and stop drinking before they spiral. Going down that pit in private is fine, no one’s going to see the spiteful hatred and self-aggression he can reach, but he doesn’t _like_ other people being around for that. Not followers, and certainly not people he _cares_ about. 

He’s ashamed enough of the moments of it that sneak past his defenses - the tantrums in front of worshipers, the violent breakdowns around Saints and High Priests, so he won’t let it happen when he has a _choice_. Troy will just _stop drinking at_ times, regardless of if it’s mid public event or only half way through a night of relaxation safe in a friend’s home. That shadow passes over him briefly, it’s hard to spot and he hides it well, but he puts the can down and shakes the blur out of his head. He tips a shot into someone _else’s_ glass, and he lets the practiced mask slide back on.

The other times are rare but _surprising_. Sometimes it doesn’t happen, sometimes the whispers in the back of his skull don’t get louder, sometimes his skin gets warm instead of beginning to crawl, and those are the evenings _everyone_ remembers. Those are the nights when people just.. _want_ to be close to him. Where the laughter comes easy, and he _radiates_ something few can hear, and even less can see. The shrieking sound harmonises, he hums on a silent frequency, shimmers in a halo of light on a spectrum eyes can’t catch. 

They say people are drawn to Sirens, but when you ask _why_ , no one ever has a real answer.

If you’re there, next to a man who can’t quite remember if he’s Calypso or DeLeon, who’s loosened with whiskey and stammering happily through a story recited through a flawless memory of childhood campfires and sitting in a mother’s lap, you’ll get it though. It’s a _feeling_.

* * *

##  **Tyreen**

Ty can’t really consume alcohol in general, it’s very rare she’s able to actually keep it down long enough for anything to _happen_ , but she does like the taste, and that means once in a blue moon.. it hits her.

Whiskey, Vodka, Tequila, anything fire hot and hissing on the swallow is her palate, she can taste it a little! It doesn’t matter if it goes down smooth or rough, she’s.. expecting it to come back up again anyway, but when it stays in her stomach?

She’s _Tyreen_.

The filth of God Queen Calypso just _melts_ off her shoulders, her eyes relax, her mouth smooths out of its pointed sneer, she _smiles_. She runs hands through her hair and fluffs it into messy curls as she rolls out belly laughs from where she’s sat crossed-legged on the floor, bending almost in double as she cackles at Troy’s _stupid_ fucking jokes.

The woman radiates warmth. She’s a born performer, all eyes lock on her and not out of _fear_ as she climbs on top of one of the great feast tables and squelches through plates of food, not caring how stained her coat is going to be as she lets it drop. 

She _commands_ attention, hundreds in the dining hall rapt and following her every word as she acts out _adventures_ , gives voices to each character, brandishes a dinner knife like a saber as she fights off invisible foes and narrates with booming theatrics the plot of that movie they watched till the file corrupted as kids, the one about the dragon and the princess. The one he can still recite word for word.

He watches her from the massive ornate chair next to her empty one at the head of the tables. Rests his cheek in his left hand and smiles.

Tyreen turns into their father sometimes. The good parts of him, the parts Troy would give anything to see again, and his sister would _loathe_ knowing she resembled.

* * *

##  **Seifa**

Sei handles booze like a close friend. An intimate close friend. A close friend who makes her… 😏

And that’s basically how she reacts. She 😏 in a spiritual way. Alcohol strips her armor away like wet sponge cake - that shit splats onto the floor around her and all you have left is a bourbon soaked bitch who _loves_ you, ok? Loves u. Oh my god 🥺 She lovessu??

She loves everyone who is remotely kind to her. She loves her crews working hard in the Mechanicum overnight and makes sure they know by slurring it out across the fucking broad-speakers that echo through the _great hangar_ at 4AM.

She loves her friends, her real friends that she never had before, has she told them that by the way? That she never had friends before, not proper ones who stuck with her? Well, she has now. 3 times in a row.

She loves Tyreen you know, she wishes she was here. It would be great if _Ty_ was here wouldn’t it? The real Ty. Do you remember Ty, the real one? She does. Ohhh the stories…. they’d melt your face. She’s telling them now - you don’t actually have a choice in whether she does or not.

She loves Ven so much, and Eli. And Jacko. Ol’ _Jacko da blade_ , c'mere. All of ff yee. She gives loving contact as freely as words, wrapping arms that can barely span any of the men’s shoulders around them and practically wrestling them into chokeholds as they laugh and either knowingly try and detangle from her or just accept it for what it is and hug back. She’s not going anywhere anyway, where’s her other shoe? Ah fuck it it’s grand.

She _loves_ Troy, and it doesn’t _matter_ if he acts all annoyed cause she’s saying it, ahhaha look everyone _he’s so embarrassed_ , ah c'mere you idiot, hold still. She loves him. She hopes he knows how good he could be, underneath. 

She presses her cheek against the ridge of his and wraps half numb arms around mismatched shoulders, tells him in a hushed slur that she’ll always be there for him, ok? She’s his friend, she’ll always be here if he needs her.

He’ll wait for her to stop crying before he carefully peels her away from his chest and tries to get her some water. She always cries when it’s Troy’s turn to deal with her like this. Always, and only with him for some reason. 

It’s hard to not notice, and sometimes he’s worried the other’s know something he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	90. Naivety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

You know all those little things adults say to kids that they take at 100% face value cause they don’t have the life experience yet to understand nuance?

That they tend to then grow out of as they get older and begin to absorb information from people around ‘em who know better?

Yeahhhhhh, the twins got **none** ofthat.

The twins believe shit in their 20’s that they _misunderstood_ as kids and decided was fact, or that Leda and Typhon had said with a jokey air - not realising their children would never be in a position to learn it _wasn’t true._

 **Troy** gets uncomfortable around the idea of being bedridden for more than a day or two, has to get up, has to pace or try and exercise, has to _move_. 

Gets worried if people he cares about say they are having a day in, sitting on their asses and doing fuck all. Sends bizarre little pings to Sei and Ven when he finds out from Eli they are having a couch slum, asks them if they would rather be at Sanctum, asks if they want to take a midnight trek to the dunes so he can show them some of the cave paintings he’d found wandering with Jak-Knife a few months ago. Gets.. strange about it. _Worried_.

Cause it’s almost like they don’t _know_ you’re meant to keep active, that keeping active is what keeps your heart going.

Mom had said that, said hearts are important, they are strong _and_ weak and you have to try and.. and keep them working all the time, that you have to _try_ and not stay in bed even if you are sick, Troy. You have to _try_ and move so your little heart will be..

He worries about his friend’s hearts some nights for so long that his own starts skipping beats.

* * *

**Tyreen** remembers seeing eyes in the water once, _HUGE_ flickering things that shifted deep in the lake, blood red and burning beneath the dark waves somehow. Hundreds, thousands growing in size as they hissed whispers that filled her mind and built in decibel till it reached a cacophony of broken _screeching_.

She told Troy, who told Typhon, who told Leda, who laughed and told them all it was just Sleep - taking shapes to _watch and wait_ for children to start to dream so it can fill their heads with stories. She winked at Typhon, who’d laughed and agreed with her, told them that’s how he got all _his_ adventures.

Troy loved it, excitedly chattered as he climbed under the blanket next to his sister about what dreams he hoped he would have, maybe the sleep thing in the lake would give him a great one about fighting monsters and being an adventurer, maybe he could fly, maybe -

She’d stared blankly at the wall their cot faced, terrified.

It’s been over a decade and Tyreen _still_ feels flashes of some deep-seated disturbance if she catches flickering shapes in the corner of her sight. There’s a reason she sneaks into Troy’s bedroom even when she can barely remember why he makes her feel better.

The eyes that cover him are… _quieter_.

Neither of them believe in superstitions or the idea of an afterlife. They grew up too removed from the idea of either to give them any credence as adults, but they _do_ parrot some things they’ve carried since kids.

Troy won’t eat scavenged food unless he sees animal tracks surrounding it, nibbles taken from edges. Needs to know something else ate it first. “ _Never eat what others aint, can be sure dat’s poisonous_ ”, dad told him when he was 11. He carries that still.

Tyreen tests locked doors twice before she steps away, can’t shake the air of discomfort if she doesn’t. Has to go _back_ and do it again if she hurried or skipped it. _“ Always twice, Ty_ ”- Typhon had lectured when she was 7, “ _Once can be luck, twice is for sure. Never worth it kid, imagine we come back one day and all our stores were eaten up, huh? Or a Manta got at the generators. Always twice_.”

* * *

**Seifa** has a million tiny habits all rooted in some bizarre cultural superstitions _she_ doesn’t see that way at all. The trade fleet goes back so many generations from so many different parts of the galaxy that thousands of stories and beliefs have merged into ridiculous little actions half of the migrants can’t even explain at this point.

  * Brings a little thing to leave in someone’s home when invited, it’s a trade off. If you’re asked over, if you’re treated like a family member, better leave a gift behind. A tiny thing usually, a little cacti in an oil can, a bauble she carved. Anything, just to place somewhere for them to find and remember their hospitability.
  * Doesn’t like to sit facing a sunset. Keep your back to it. Long shadows are an advance warning, can’t hide in the warm light.
  * First dollars spent from any new deal are on people who need it. Always. That’s the rule. You con some smarmy fucker out of a 40-tonne import transaction fee for shifting their Oranium deposits between a couple of leeway stations off orbit, then you buy a meal for someone who needs it, or cancel a debt. First cash ain’t yours. First cash is for people who _need_ it first.
  * Never ties her hair up at night, even if its an unstyled mess and others will see. Doesn’t irk her the same way being unfinished would around people, if her makeup was ruined or her clothes filthy. Not in the same league, somehow. Hair up is for business. The night is to relax. You stop work, you drop that burden. Let your hair down, smile, _breath_.
  * Will fix things without being asked. It’s good _manners_. Opens her hand and gestures for damaged shield rigs to be passed over mid-conversation, armour panels she’s noticed are cracked, loose gun sights. Tinkers with them as she talks to the owner, hands them back repaired, never even _mentions_ this in words. It’s not to be spoken of anyway, that alters the _deal_. Only does it with people she likes though…. it’s a simple way to know you’re in Ur Machina’s good books.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	91. Trying isn't enough (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

> "Ungrateful. Fucking. CHILD. She _**made**_ you, made both of you. Without her, you’d be skag-shit right now.” They paused to look him up and down before continuing. 

> “…Instead of a _shit-eating skag_.” 

> \- Jak-Knife
> 
> * * *

The thing that makes **The Leech’s** influence the most difficult for Troy, is he’s _painfully aware_ that the way he erupts into aggression sometimes, or how emotion churns inside him till it toxifies into jealousy and insult he can’t _help_ but lash back at, is very **wrong**.

He knows it is. He _hates it_. He’s always hated it even when he was young enough for someone to not think he’d be able to comprehend his feelings yet. Watching Tyreen play when he was too tired to get out of bed, staring at the way Leda would swing his sister around in her arms, the way they _laughed_ … he’s always felt a kind of vicious irritation deep in his bones that he could never really find a way to sate.

He’s _always_ wanted, he’s _always_ been aggressively protective of things he finds value in, so in the COV when he survives behind a persona, the target shifted to his God King façade.

He values that, he has to. He _covets_ his divine presence even if he knows it’s not genuine, so his reactions toward being insulted or irritated while acting as Troy Calypso have become more aggressive and more violent as the years have passed.

But he doesn’t _want_ to be like that. He tries not to be, he fights against it as much as he can. Goes silent as he feels the spines along his rig twitch, narrows his eyes and whistles in shuddering breaths as he feels muscle tense along his torso. He’s practiced for so many hours : how to mask it. How to push it deep down into his guts and wait till he’s alone to spew out that bile and hatred where no one can hear him and no one can get _hurt_ , so when he does slip up it’s another little failure - another little stab into his self-confidence. _Especially around those he cares about_.

Troy doesn’t look at other people and expect them to react that way when angry, or when insulted. He doesn’t watch eagerly and let the static in the air build as he waits for them to _snap_ , because they _are_ people.

They won’t react that way because they aren’t _like him_.

He knows that _they_ are people, and _he’s_ just some **_thing_** trying to masquerade as one. Troy knows so much about him is wrong, and genuinely believes he’s not a person and doesn’t belong around them even though he so desperately wants to.

He’d never expect them to act or feel the way he does, because they aren’t broken like him, so he’s never surprised when they don’t fly off the handle or begin to spiral into viciousness, he’d never think for a moment that they would fail the way he so often does - because they are _better_ than him.

When someone he cares about gets angry, he watches them closely. He tries to absorb their actions, their facial expressions, how they vent the frustration. How they _think_. He tries to understand why they make those sounds or scowl that way, learn their body language, commit it all to memory in that bizarre mind of his, because then maybe, _just maybe_ , he can do better next time. He can _mimic them_.

  * When Seifa is in a shitty mode and slumps dramatically, clacking her nails against the table as she mutters swears in languages she thinks he doesn’t understand under her breath, he notes it. That’s how to show frustration with someone without hurting anything. That’s how to let it _out_.
  * When Jak-Knife squares their shoulders and turns to face a Crusader with a loose tongue and a death wish, he maps their movements. The turn of their neck, the shift of their hips to settle a center of gravity ready to _brawl_. The quick, barked commands in words that may not be _sharp_ but still cut the challenger to the bone. That’s how to show physical strength without killing someone. That’s how to make someone _step back_.
  * When Ven is all razor sharp smile and eyes that could pierce a hull at some _asshole_ who’s pushing his buttons, trying to get a rise out of "The twins fortune teller”, he’s watching. The weight of the heavy arm slapped onto their shoulder in faux camaraderie, the drawl in the husky voiced reassurances that he’s _more_ than they can handle right now and fate’s saying they should _probably_ get the fuck out of his sight. The shift of his shoulders to highlight the bulk of his torso as he beams through a predatory grin. That’s how to make another person feel weak without destroying things. That’s how to show _control_.



He tries to copy them when he feels that rot churning in his chest over something pathetic next time, if they were watching closely enough they’d catch flickers of their own friends in his reactions, his movements. Tiny echoes of themselves in God King Calypso’s tone of voice, but Troy is very _good_ at pretending to be someone else, and it’s subtle.

He tries so hard, he rehearses in front of that dark mirror in his washroom, he repeats mantras he’s read online from doctors that probably aren’t doctors at all about how he’s in control, how he doesn’t hate, how he _cares_ for his friends, how the burning in his veins when he sees what _he wants_ pass between them isn’t real…

but it **is** , and it’s getting **worse**.

He blames himself honestly, like with everything in his life, he takes it on himself as a terrible flaw. But it’s not Troy, it’s his half of **The Leech** , desperate and covetous for what it wants so _strongly_ and can never have. To fill a great hunger it can’t possibly feed.

* * *

One of Seifa’s only real weapons against Troy has always been to remind him who he is, and what she knows.

When he gets too aggressive, when he tries to dominate her through persona, when he gets mean, it snaps him back to reality very quickly.

But as time goes on, it gets harder and harder to do. He doesn’t react with the shock and disgust anymore like he used to, he goes quiet. 

He _sneers_ at her.

He stalks away.

She used to rip past his persona and touch _him_ when she’d remind him who he was, now it often feels like she’s speaking to something that’s barely tolerating the _insult_ , and only because there is still a flicker of that real voice inside it that’s stopping it from _lashing back at her._

It’s hard. It’s so hard.

When he says what he says to her the day she snaps, she can’t even fight back with words. There’s **_nothing_** left for her, he’s stopped reacting to her only defence against the monster he was becoming, so she hits him instead.

 _So hard._

Cracks an old fracture against his grotesque fucking golden teeth. 

It works, he snaps out of whatever **The Leech** had twisted him into and back to Troy DeLeon, but she’s already storming out the Cathedral’s great doors for the last time.

It’s too little, too late.

Trying wasn’t enough.

* * *

JK belongs to [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	92. The hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

**Anonymous** asked:

Ok this might be way off the mark and totally wrong and I've misinterpreted everything about Seifa and Troy, but His Hands by Blegh sounds like such a Treifa/Soy(???) song to me

* * *

_Treifa/Soy_ sent me to the shadowrealm but you are ABSOLUTELY on point with the lyrics.. and very well interpreted.

* * *

You’re too real for me, you should go to something better. I’ll give you to someone, I have friends that’ll be on earth for longer. I have friends that won’t feel like _monsters_.

Being unwanted and wanting too much, feeding the idea of  you . Leaving you starving. Not god, not us, but something in the middle.

But you know I was still down on my knees like it was a religion, and you know you love  him ..

And you might be in love with him

And you know you love  him

And you’re falling in love with  him

I kissed every stranger in the corridor that night… I think I was searching for the taste of  you in everyone

* * *

Neither Sei or Troy are willing to actually consider what they KNOW they want, but for very different reasons. Sei is carrying a massive amount of baggage regarding self worth and also straight up is aware having feelings towards someone as immature in their sense of self and control as him is a _terrible_ idea, and Troy is… not in a good place in general. 

He _knows_ what he wants underneath, he _knows_ what he wants from her, he _knows_ what he wants from his close companions, what he wants from his sister… he just won’t let himself surface it because Troy DeLeon never _gets_ what he wants.

_Ever_.

Cause he doesn’t deserve it - he’s a monster.

Tyreen’s half of **The Leech** is insatiable _hunger_ , Troy’s is insatiable _want_.

Her part of the broken great power can eat, and it eats and eats and eats, incapable of ever feeling sated, while his part is able to feel satisfaction but can never consume what it wants so desperately in the first place. 

**The Leech** hates them both. **_Hates_**. It’s not sentient in a way that would allow that feeling to be pushed into understandable thought, but it loathes them both in an eruptive wave of unstoppable feeling that’s warped their entire lives.

It shouldn’t be split. It shouldn’t be ripped in two and removed from the eternal song, but it is.. and it whispers venom into their minds that’s slowly poisoning them both.

Tyreen can never be good enough, ever. She hears that plenty, hissed in her own voice most nights. Not good enough for Typhon, not good enough for Troy. _Stupid_. Unlovable. Destroys everything she touches. 

Her half’s desperate hunger compelled her to travel to Pandora under false promises of belonging, of family… then turned on her in volcanic rage when she was unable to feed on the Eridium it had so desperately hungered for to sate the pain. It demanded everything else instead - loyalty, _worship,_ and when that eventually stopped being enough?

It demands she seek the Great Vault and become something that can eat the _very stars_. 

Troy can never feel wanted. **The Leech’s** covetous eyes shimmer around him in an all seeing halo of fire and hatred that he can never close. He see’s everything and wants all, but he can’t _have it_. 

His half is sight without mouth, it can’t feed, it can’t take what it needs, so it drips envy and self loathing into his gut at night. Reminds him how no one will ever want the real him, how he’s not trying hard enough to make Tyreen happy, to be what people want - Calypso, blood soaked God King. What the crowds and adoration of billions screams for.

It reminds him that’s not him. It reminds him no one loves him, not his friends who mock him, not Tyreen, not Typhon, not… Seifa. 

Everything DeLeon wants, he never gets. 

  * He wanted his family to not break when Leda crumbled to ash.
  * He wanted to remain on Necrotafeyo with his father.
  * He wanted his sister to stay who he remembered her being, his best friend. 
  * He wants what he see’s in how Eli, Ven, JK and Sei laugh and care so easily for each other, he wants love. 
  * He wants _her_.



But DeLeon never gets anything he wants, and **The Leech** makes sure to remind him constantly _why_. Because he’s not good enough, he’s filth, he’s a weakling that’s discarded any morals he once had to appease a tyrant of a twin because he’s too disgustingly pathetic to say _no_.

The blood of every victim of the COV is on his hands, because he’s too cowardly to turn his back on Tyreen and die in their stead.

He hides behind the façade of a monster because it makes it easier, the God King wants this life, so that makes it tolerable? That.. sates his needs?

Half of it is a lie and half of it is the truth. 

He doesn’t know which is which, and it’s eating him alive.

* * *

* * *

No… they don’t. 

**The Leech** decimated their entire lives from the moment Typhon split them apart as newborns.

Troy spent most of his early childhood desperately sick or bedridden, battling to control feelings of envy and jealousy he couldn’t express, and Tyreen had her senses slowly consumed by her side till by the time she was 10 she couldn’t eat or taste anymore, and all that was left was the roiling pain of the _hunger_ inside her. 

That’s just.. that’s how it was. That was their existence? They don’t _know_ anything else. They don’t comprehend how wrong it was because they have no context for what it should have been. 

Neither talks about this. 

Tyreen has no one she is close to anymore, she had Sei before the other woman shifted from mentor to some kind of irritant in the back of her mind, now she has nothing. Lecherous Saints who worship the ground she stands on but she’d never open up to about the unending emptiness, the pain, the hunger… cause Ty ain’t a **freak**! Ty’s not some weak, pathetic crybaby _like her brother._

Troy _tries_ to explain to the people who’s attention he covets, but he doesn’t know how. The words are hard to grasp, and what if they react badly anyway? Just another reason for them to leave… and he knows they are going to leave. Everyone does. That’s why he tries to hold them so close, that’s why he places them in positions of power, under **HIS** wing, because if they are strong, if they are worshiped like him, then they might be happy - and if they are happy, they might stay, and if they stay, they will know who he is and remember the real him. _Right_?

He hoards their love like a great wyrm… _or a parasite._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	93. Not her business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

**Seifa** is monogamous and _mostly_ straight. Sleeping with someone has always been a pretty simple equation for her.

If she’s 😏 , and he’s 😏 , and nothing is going to be affected by a few hours good time? Why not. She rarely sees the same person twice and even rarer gives a shit about the possibility of that being a problem, but things are harder now.

She’s not a migrant worker, she’s in one place, and that fucking _title_ she was stupid enough to be convinced into taking by a lopsided grin and batted eyelashes… it’s like a noose. She can’t escape being a Saint. _Everyone_ knows her. 

She’s got an overly flattering rendition of herself splayed across a great stained window in the Grand Cathedral, Bandits tack little clumsily welded metal skulls pinned with flower petals to their technical’s dashboards and genuinely believe Machina will bless their V-8’s on glory-raids. It’s _ridiculous._

There isn’t such thing as a one night stand here. She attracts worshipers, not people, and much as she doesn’t _mind_ the idea of being worshiped for a night or two considering some of the absolute specimens prowling the lower city in chains and blood spattered leather… it’s not a good idea. She knows that.

Going off-world is an option yeah, and most of her recent escapades (erotic version) have been something that bloomed from a business trip - with _normal_ people who aren’t roped into being holy figures within a death cult - the problem is that those don’t scratch the real itch.

What she needs, what she wants, is _meaning_ … but Sei gave up on experiencing that connection again the same day she gave up on love.

She considers almost everyone else’s ass-capades the same way. 

If **Ven** is 😔👌 one morning while struggling to walk straight and makes a joke about not knowing he could bend that way? _Good for him_ 😌

If **JK** is all red ears and deep chuckles as they rub at the sides of their mask in that adorable wiggle of embarrassment when she asks how their “trip” off planet went and how their lady is doin’? _Good for them_ 😌

If **Ty** is breathy giggles and links to ridiculously named online stores and trying to give recommendations? _Good for her_ 😌

…but she isn’t ok with **what Troy does**.

It’s not her business. It’s not, and she can’t raise it or even give her opinion on it really because.. who the fuck is _she_ to comment? She’s not his mother, she’s not his.. well. She’s not. She’s just _Seifa_ , and it’s not like he’s doing anything _wrong_.

She gets the same offers, she gets the same adoration even if it’s not remotely on the level he’s pleaded with, she just says no because she doesn’t _want_ that. She knows how willing so many are, and she’s _aware_ how many get exactly what they ask for when they pursue the God King.

Something about it irks at her grimy little morals though she can’t put a finger on it entirely. Something about it being a lie, maybe. Seifa wouldn’t accept what a worshiper offers because she’s not what they think she is. She’s just a woman. She’s flesh and blood and a few piercings, not divine. When Troy accepts he’s accepting as if he _is_ what they are offering themselves to. But… he’s _not_.

Troy, the real Troy, the one she knows? She doesn’t even think he _wants_ what he’s accepting. That’s part of what stabs her about it, really. It’s a betrayal of what _they_ believe, and what _he_ really feels. Troy DeLeon is the man who turned deep crimson in a mix of embarrassment and _fury_ when he first saw hickeys on her neck in that second month on her ship, who had to be calmed down by a knowingly smirking Ty and her.

Troy DeLeon is the man who doesn’t like to place his hand on people and shy’s away from contact, but will delicately stroke at a friend’s bruise or sink _hungrily_ into an embrace when it’s offered to him.

What he’s appeasing with these people, these _groups_ of people in sordid drug fueled orgies is not _him_ , because he doesn’t.. he wouldn’t.. _like that_. She knows him. She _knows_ he wouldn’t want it.

What he’s appeasing is the character he’s been playing for years now, that **thing** everyone who knows the real him can’t stand. He’s not breaking out of it like he used to, he’s not shrugging its claws out of his skin after sermons finish and confessions have ended.

He’s carrying its filth on his back _all the time_ now, to the point where it’s what’s saying **_Y_** ** _E_** ** _S_** when they offer. It’s what’s grinning too wide and narrowing vicious eyes into gleaming slits as they gift their flesh to it.

She isn’t ok with what Troy does, but it’s **none of her business.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	94. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

  * Kier died the year after I left ( maybe? Boss didn’t give full details did he? Check in w/him on it next contact ). Plasma leak while stripping one of the old cruiser w-cores. Never took the shit we were told about them that serious, would have been 19, 20 maybe? ~~I think I was a year older~~. Never got the chance to make it on his own. Dumb fucker. 


  * Toby left fleet round the same time as me, kept in contact till year I found the rats? Just b4 that actually - be worth asking Sol if he has any records. Radio silent since. Was running long haul scamline @ Artemis - counterfeit recyc seals. Think his business “ _partners_ ” might have cashed in the luck he pushed too far after years, man. Do I actually want to know what happened? IDK. Nice to think he’s just… living quiet.


  * Bryga is still around, married some trade duchess and is fuckin _ROLLING_ in cash from her holiday villa on one of Promethea’s orbit locked moons. Still in touch, miss her actually, not talked in a while - Note me: Call that fucking bitch lol. _Rosks stick 2gether_.



\- Notes scribbled on back of picture.

* * *

Sei has a basic bio including some of her background: [**here**](https://border-spam.tumblr.com/post/618485080008048640/leech-lord-au)

She came as “Seifa A”, and that was it.

They gave the kids a name if they arrived without one, but if they had anything partial it was the norm to leave it. Boss never really felt the need to explain why he ran things that way, why he didn’t just totally rename any little kid who arrived too young to even be able to remember their original within a couple of months, but it always felt off to him. Regardless of _why_ they weren’t part of their family anymore, taking that remaining tie away from them? **Nah**.

These kids had lost their belonging already or they wouldn’t have ended up in his fleet, no need to take the little _bits they had left_.

Sei was handed to Roska for settling, so she’s A'rosk, just like all the others in her group were Rosk if they didn’t already have a name of their own. Handy way to keep a tally of who was responsible for each, who’d need to be told if they were talking back cheek or skiving off their basic little tasks.

There’s a good few Rosk’s out there, and while Roska himself isn’t around anymore - he was an old man even when she was a kid, they rally around that name in a way. All the Junkers are family, but if you share a piece of an old hand’s name, that bond is generally just a _little_ tighter.

* * *

Sei has no clue whatsoever about _any_ of her family or where she originated from, but she’s put 1+1 together and decided it’s almost definitely a case of being sold, so she’s got **zero interest** in finding out about them.

The vast majority of kids that were “taken in” by the junker fleet were unwanted mouths to feed sold on for a pittance, she sees no reason why she would have been any different. Sure, it was pretty normal for them to all tell themselves they were _different_ \- to go through phases in their early teens where they decided they _must_ have a loving family out there.. that any day now, their loving parents would track them down, explain it had all been a mistake, some kind of mixup, and they’d be whisked away to a life of being loved and belonging… but that _never_ happened for any of the kids, and reality would settle after a while. 

Not being wanted by your birth family wasn’t that huge an issue when the one that took you in values you immensely. Seifa was happy.

She doesn’t remember anything about where she comes from, not even smells or visuals. Most of her earliest memories are from when she was a snotty 4 year old being led through the junk-halls with the other little kids to learn how to tell trash wire from copper, sit with sticky little hands and blunt pliers as they pulled scrap from trash and set it aside for a few hours a day before it was “playtime” and they’d be shooed away to roughhouse in a shared living area till dinner.

She’d never equate this to slave labour and it would be a very bad idea to imply the reality of it to her, everyone had little jobs, it’s _not the same, ok?_ It’s not, it’s totally different.

Sei’s a fiercely logical person, but her childhood is one of the very few touch points she get’s **weirdly** stupid regarding. Defensive. It’s hard to talk to her about it.

She’s got no interest in tracking her original family because Boss and the 20+ adults who took care of her throughout her life are all she really wants and needs.

Did this affect her overall as an adult?

More than she’ll ever let herself admit. Seifa, for all her ego and irritating levels of confidence while being dealt with, has desperately low self value. 

In the back of her mind, she grew up as _trash_. She’s… someone’s garbage, always has been. She’s unwanted, and she’s only had a chance because she got _lucky_. She spent her entire childhood rummaging through literal junk to find anything of value that could be used to feed the fleet, and the other kids? Some of ‘em didn’t even get names, Roska was _good_. Roska was a lovely man who reported to Boss, but the others on skirt ships? Fucking hell… 

She’s where she is now through dumb luck and skills she learned from a harsh life she wouldn’t wish on any friend. And is she happy with where she is?

Well, she’s worshipped as a Death Cult’s Saint through prayers whispered to a name that’s not even her own. 

She’s got money, she’s got power, got champagne and fame…

But she’d give it all to grab Eli, Jak-Knife, and Ven, slap sense into Tyreen and _drag_ Troy off his false throne, then get them all out of there. Take them **home**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	95. Frost (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

They had an unspoken agreement, Ven and Troy.

Had for a long time, back since he’d taken The Oracle as an aide to that sponsorship meeting on Vigil-5.

A full night cycle travelling subspace in a ship escort had eased both of them into really _talking_. Well, that and the 30+ cocktails they must have managed on Maliwan’s tab. The vessel was fully catered after all, would have been _stupid_ to waste the gesture.

Troy had asked after months of rolling the question around the back of his mind, if Ven would _tell him_ when deaths were close. Not for him of course, he knew it didn’t work that way and whatever magical alien bullshit fueled the other man’s “ _unique_ ” outlook swam into confused blurs if he focused on Siren markings in future threads, but for other people. People that m _a_ ttered. Jak-Knife. _Seifa_ … he’d tell him, right? He _knew_ , right? Had looked ahead for everyone?

Ven winced back his 8th martini and stared into the glass like it might answer in his stead if he could bribe it with another shot of disgustingly overpriced spirits. First time Troy had ever seen the man _squirm_.

“…Yeah boss, I look. Tell myself I won’t every time I meet someone new, but.” he’d reached to refill his drink as he slumped back further into the transport ship’s luxury armchair, just pure gin this time though - no room in his stomach to waste on mixers.

“…But I always do.”

He swallowed the shake in his voice before he continued, eyes heavy as he refused to part them from the glass he nursed gently side to side.

“Can’t not. How could I, if s-something happened to them and I _could_ have stopped it and didn’t? Nahhhh.”

The shot slipped down his throat in one smooth pour, and Troy had smirked at how much practice that must have taken as he rolled his own drink slowly in claws that left scratches across the crystal tumbler.

“But big guy, I can’t _tell_ you. I can’t _tell_ anyone, it’s not how it works… cause soon as I tell someone? It _changes_. The _act_ of telling them changes the outcome, does that make s-sense? It’s like… I’ll see one thread clear, but soon as I make it real, soon as I put it into words? It’s **gone**. They slip onto another and sometimes it’s worse, even harder to avoid.” a discolored human finger jabbed accusingly in Troy’s direction from under the ridge of the Eridian arm’s hand shield. 

“The deal of uh.. the deal of _speaking_ this shit. Sometimes t-that’s enough to wipe it from existence completely.” he finished with a wobble to that caramel smooth voice, shrinking back into the lavish chair and gesturing sloppily at the Maliwan branded service droid that had eagerly scuttled over with yet another bottle.

God-King Calypso nodded sagely, as if he had the slightest clue what Ven was talking about. He didn’t. That wasn’t possible for someone who lived life moving in one direction. 

Ven’s view of time was warped beyond what a human mind should be able to handle, and Troy knew there were times he _couldn’t_. Where Eli would find him staring at nothing, muttering quietly to himself for hours as he got lost in the now and the then - stumbling through versions of reality that never happened and never would but were _real_ in every way to his mind. He wouldn’t wish that shit on anyone. He wouldn’t wish it on someone he **hated**.

An unspoken agreement there and then, that Ven wouldn’t _tell_ , but he’d advise. He’d do his job. Troy wouldn’t ask more of him. A friend shouldn’t suffer to ease _his_ nightmares.

* * *

Today was one of those days, a quick e-comm message in the early AM subtle enough for Troy to grasp without breaking their agreement.

> _Not today, boss. Keep them home._

So he had.

Jak-Knife’s position at the head of the scheduled escort into Three Horns was cancelled, and Calypso had reissued them into training. They wouldn’t question the change, they never did, and he wondered as he pulled the fur of his coat closer around his shoulders and shivered, if they _knew_ too.

The barracks were so eerie this late into the night.

Elpis was just beginning to rise and frost still coating the grime of the Holy City like crushed diamond glinting in the flickering neon lights. It crunched under his boots as he quietly walked through the compound, breath billowing around his head in curling halos of steam that evaporated into the darkness.

All still asleep, cocooned in the Crusader barracks among clan and family. All bar God King Calypso, wrapped in a coat not thick enough to stop the bitter chill of the morning’s approach from creeping into his chest through the steel of his prosthetic’s bracer.

He scuffed at a blood smear in the brick under his feet, dappled with twinkling ice.

Might be **his**.

He wondered if JK knew about these decisions, the unspoken agreement with Ven. They’d be angry, maybe. Was he robbing some great death in glory from them? Was he denying something sacred to Bandits that he didn’t grasp right?

The same way he couldn’t comprehend why there were graves of fallen Paladins so close by - lovingly tended to and decorated with trinkets they’d carried in life when he _knew_ Bandits saw meat as only temporary and believed the soul carried on through belongings. The same way he didn’t understand how a face worn as a mask could be someone else’s, or a weapon scream with the war-cry of hundreds when it fired.

Did JK know what it meant when there was a sudden shift in their schedule on days they had been steeled for war?

Did they know he saw the way their shoulders would tense and nails would bite into their palm in frustration they couldn’t put into words after a night of laughter and jokes with their marauders? 

Troy understood that all too well - the primal need to _show_ you were powerful to people you knew loved you and who’s words hadn’t been designed to hurt, that sometimes you needed to remind the world you _weren’t_ soft in that way you worried it had begun to think you were, the **bad way**. That you could crunch bone and rip flesh with a body you _could_ show gentleness with too. 

He understood that, the two sides of Jak-Knife that mirrored his own. The human and the _other_.

Did they _know_ how often he let them win when he’d grapple with them in this arena on those days? Surrounded by ecstatic Crusaders lost in chants and battle cries as he’d hold back, leave openings, _make mistakes_ , watch JK remind their warriors and _themself_ of their physical threat as he fell, then take their offered hand when he lay panting through a bloodied split lip on that rough brick. Let them haul him to his feet with a slap of thanks to the meat of his shoulder and a distorted grunt through their mask that he knew meant _so much_.

 _He_ knew they let him win some days too.

On his bad days…

He sniffed, nose numb and red as the fur of his collar tickled it, shivering quietly in the thin light. Maybe that was his blood, maybe it was JK’s.

Maybe really, there was no difference.

Troy breathed out a wave of foggy steam he’d not realised had been held in his lungs for so long - thinking. He needed to get back to the Cathedral, the world around him was starting to wake and he wasn’t in the mood to wear his Godhood right now. He was too tired, and it was too heavy.

> _Not today, boss_.

He turned and began to walk towards the compound gates, shifting his coat higher around his shoulders again. If Seifa was here he’d…

No. She wasn’t. Hadn’t been a long time now. Maybe Ven was still awake.

Impossible to stay cold around _that_ man.

* * *

**Additional:**

**Anonymous** asked:

Honestly, at first I felt bad for Troy, but learning that he's manipulating Jak Knife by using a fake friendship so they don't give info to the Raiders is so shitty that I can't say I like or sympathize with him anymore in this Au. JK being a sweetie and nicer/not an asshole means I care more about them than Troy. So ratboy using them like that makes him even more unlikeable, even in this au where he's fleshed out and beyond sympathetic. Fair fucking play making this not a black/white story, GG

* * *

Ah but that’s the beauty of it.

For all his expertise in lying, in controlling and manipulating other people, Troy _can’t_ fake the truth of who he is.

Whatever his **_original intentions_** were with JK, they crumbled alongside his divine façade as he began to let the mask slip around them.

The closer they became and the more Troy realised the care his bodyguard was showing was genuine and not what **The Leech** insisted it was - ~~_false, an act, deceivery, no one could **really** care about you, boy_~~ -, the more of the _real_ Troy he let Jak-Knife see.

He adores JK even by mid COV. He mimics their body language - tries to match the person he’s placed mentally as an icon of masculinity. He puffs himself up in front of his mirror and rolls his shoulder, tilts his head to copy the line of their mask when he watches them square up to a misjudged threat from a subordinate marauder. He talks to them so much, alone on long trips, in Sanctum.

He’s horrifically envious as he is with anyone he cares for, but he _loves them_. They are his brother. He trusts JK literally with his life, and he protects theirs in return.

The COV are numbered in the billions. The Crimson Raiders are a couple of hundred souls holed up in the remnants of a mining station.

The cult could have wiped the raiders off Pandora in an hour, but they **never have**. That’s because Troy and JK understand each other enough to know what needs to be said and what doesn’t, the unspoken agreement between them.

JK shares non-vital info to the Raiders, and the people they care about like Moxxi, Krieg, the civilians who live in Sanctuary, they live oddly out of the COV’s target for _years_.

Like I said before, Troy is bizarre but he does run on some form of logic, it’s just warped like he is. He couldn’t let anyone get as close to his real self as he lets JK and see them as a _tool_.

He sees them as better than anything he could _ever be_.

* * *

Ven belongs to [@hieroglyphix](https://tmblr.co/mO-I_3tkR08pC9ATrfNBJQA) , and JK to [@godkingsanointed](https://tmblr.co/mRDB0GHlT0l2TeBFHSORJjw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	96. Siren song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

Tyreen, Jak-Knife, and the King’s Vanguard that were escorting his raids during the times it happened. 

That’s it. No one else who’s heard it directly is capable of still _speaking_ , yet alone describing what they experienced. 

Troy’s second voice has only torn out of his throat a handful of times - twice on Raid-stream, and once in the twin’s first week on Pandora when that attempt to approach a camp of locals had gone so spectacularly wrong. Tyreen doesn’t remember _exactly_ what went down, the whole thing is fuzzy. There was blood in her eyes from the bottle that had been slashed across her face, and what she recalls of it is hearing Troy **scream** , then the burn in her arms afterwards as she started to drag his useless ass out of there. 

Remembers being oddly relieved he’d fainted. Her brother had always been a total wuss, and the still twitching bodies leaking pink-grey goo out of their ears would have had him horking all over the only set of clothes the twins _had_. Figured it was her own cool Siren shit protecting her like it had before anyway, ripping across the camp in vicious lashes of crackling energy while she’d been blinded - weird though, cause normally it turned flesh to dust, not _liquidised their brains_.

But it was _just_ a _scream_. Like, she’s never really got it? Was watching both times he went Troy.exe and glitched out on those streams and wasn’t impressed. Rolled her eyes at people acting like it had been a big deal when all she heard over the static cuts of the audio was Troy screeching like a moron. He shouts all the time, he’s a _whiny little bitch_ who throws sobbing tantrums when he’s butt-hurt, hearing him freak out is normal for fuck’s sake. She doesn’t get why it blows up the ratings.It’s nothing special…

The people who were in proximity when it happened during those raids would _**disagree**_.

Recording equipment doesn’t pick it up right, can’t. The stream broke down into a static low-framed mess both times he erupted into Siren song, and the audio that made it through didn’t capture what it really sounded like. Processed it as some metallic, screeching reverb. Like frequencies across hundreds of E-Net sound channels had mixed. A garbled, confusing blast of words, laughter, sobbing, and rage, shrieking at a decimating volume that cut and jumped with the static crackling of the decaying stream quality. 

In person it’s something * _else_ *. It can’t be put into language. 

Jak-Knife and their Crusaders, they’ve been on Pandora their entire lives. They grew up with the tortured melody that hums beneath the planet’s crust - they’ve got a resistance built over decades of hearing the same song thrum under their feet that roars from Troy when **The Leech** takes him, and _even then_ they are left clutching at their heads and wincing in pain as blood trickles under their masks and down their necks.

They survive, nothing else does. Everything goes _wrong._ If you can keep your eyes open as the waves of agonised sound pulse from God King Calypso, you’ll see dust and pebbles spiral slowly into the air, corpses lift gently from the ground, like the world itself is confused as to what is up and what is down anymore. Plants wither, dry ground cracks, life doesn’t know how to respond to a power that should never be encountered by it. 

JK and the Vanguard are the ones who rise when silence finally falls, that wordlessly run to Troy and clear his airways as he chokes and spasms. Everyone else is gone. Whoever the raid was targeting - heretics, slavers, poachers living off COV protected shanty town’s livelihoods, they’ll be like those twitching bodies Tyreen remembers. Any unlikely survivors resilient to the song from a lifetime of being corrupted on Pandora will be too stunned to defend themselves, and rarely want to. 

Natives know a God when they see one, and the few who didn’t die after Troy sang promised fealty as soon as they could understand how to speak again. They are Vanguard now. _Believers_.

What Jak-Knife and Troy’s vanguard have heard both times isn’t something they share. They know about it all. The flood, the fire, the truth of Pandora’s history- and it’s _theirs_. It’s for Bandits to know and Sirens to preach in _blessed_ song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	97. The thought that counts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ****

* * *

##  **Troy**

Calypso is a bizarre, very _weird_ man who’s concept of a “gift” can be some hot drink Ven brought for him to a late night meeting, the time JK handed him a slightly rusted ¼ socket wrench they’d spotted on a scrap pile while patrolling the slums and recalled him saying he’d have to ask Sei for the day before, or a photo of a _flower_ Eli saw and sent on an incognito chat line.

What he considers gifts aren’t usually that tangible so aren’t things he can show to others, but there are some _actual_ gifts he’s held onto for _far too long_ and people are fucking _sick_ of being shown.

You ever see a coffee cup that hasn’t been washed in **eight years??**

Well his friends have. _Weekly_.

Ty had “made it” for him in their first year planet-side, a shitty white .50c mug she’d crudely painted “ _Best Bro, lol_ ” on in now peeling enamel. He _knows_ it was a joke, but it doesn’t change how that stupid gross mug has made him feel when things have been _so_ _bad that_ he’s spent nights rolling it gently between a flesh and metal hand, reassuring himself with memories of the good times.

I mean he.. he cleans it, he rinses it out, but if he washed it properly the paint would just come straight off and that ain’t happening. He drinks _so much_ coffee. The poor thing gets refilled 4, 5 times a night sometimes, it’s VILE looking. Brown and black stains, more rings than a felled steelwood tree running down the inside..

Ven hates it. Sei hates it. Eli smiles and tries not to die when he sees it. JK FUCKING LOVES IT. That mug is more Troy to them then his cruel prosthetic is, that mug is the most _Troy thing_ on his damn ship.

Seifa has “politely” insisted on sealing it for him so he CAN wash it, but she’s been told with frightening clarity that she’s not allowed near it. Leave it alone, it’s _fine_.

Ven joke gifted him a pair of cursed-text booty shorts after two years of seeing The Holy Father’s ass crack daily and feeling his soul leave his body every time.

Troy took it as part insult / part challenge and made sure to _actually wear them_ around Ven and make sure the other man was aware.

It went from hitching his pants just low enough in public to show their hem and smirking as they were recognised, to just straight up wearing them instead of his usual baggy harem pants some nights when he knew Ven would be spending a few hours in Sanctum.

Sei was completely in on this and acted nonchalant as her friend would desperately try to look around the room for support as his life-force withered while having to sit next to his _boss_ in cursed hotpants and everyone else treating it like it was completely normal.

That stopped when Sei wasn’t around, that kind of bullshit just didn’t feel right.

He still has them though. They’ll.. make a return one day, and Ven won’t be ready.

* * *

##  **Seifa**

On the gift front, she’s got 2 modes

1 - Extremely expensive item of value:

> **Munny**. Nice. Highly appreciates it but won’t from a personal level ( _unless it’s also exceptionally catered to her like very carefully chosen jewelry_ ). She’ll secure it somewhere behind lock and key in her ship, and take it out to fondle on her floor like a goblin if she’s feeling down.

> Sei won’t _use_ any expensive gifts for fear of somehow “wasting” then, a weird after effect of poverty and a knife edge upbringing, but she’ll cover herself in platinum and diamonds AT HOME while watching bullshit on the E-Net and drinking wine. Think Jenna Marbles leeeshuring. Only does this in private, it’s some odd way of enjoying the things she’s been given without fear of somehow devaluing them. She’s fuckin weird. She is a _weird_ person, she’s just very close to even **weirder** monster twins and they distract a lot of attention from her strangeness.

2 - Piece of shit someone found in a flea market and thought of her or made for her _poorly_ :

> _What the fuck_. What the **fuck**. Treasure. Will go all red eyed and mouth wobbly when given it, won’t know what the hell to say. Will use / wear / show it off _daily_. Will proudly point out gifts like this in her ship to visitors, go over who gave it to her, where it’s from, what that person means to her, everything.

> If it’s wearable it will be patched into or worn with her best outfits bar ceremonial garb. She’s covered in little mementos of friends and colleagues she takes _massive_ comfort from by having close to her at all times, ‘specially as some are too far away to see that often, or aren’t around at all anymore.

The pendant Ven surprised her with has found its way into almost every ensemble she wears, it’s on next to scrap chains and fool’s gold when she’s elbow deep in a Mechanicum’s process machine’s axle oil, and it’s on when she’s dripping in platinum and faux giggling at a gala. This is… _noticed_ by Troy, who is silently aware of how the **shockingly expensive** jewelry he’s been gifting her for years remains stashed in lockboxes around her ship while Ven’s bit of glass rarely leaves her skin. He finds it harder to ignore the blue-green glint of it far more than he’d want anyone to know.

* * *

He sent her a droid, years ago. She picked it up from a holding dock in a grimy but carefully packaged parcel and loved it at first sight. Tiny little hive-drone, smaller than her fist and mashed together from what looked like scrap - ancient LED screen able to just about render a simple smiley face with oversized pixels. A chicken scratch note about how they were doing well, things had been going great and they’d really started to find their footing now. 

Lines about Tyreen being a pain in the ass, how he’d been having _fun_ with this stuff - droids, that she’d been right that he should try messing around with the amount of scrap bots you could find in any junkpile across Pandora. Said he’d made this for her because he remembered her ship had no V.I. network and how half the rec-room was covered in notes she’d end up having to take to keep on top of deals and interesting tips. This little floating ball could link with her E-Dev and convert audio into notes, calender bookings, maybe make her life a bit easier? Cause she had made theirs easier, him and Ty’s, hadn’t she. He wanted to give her something back. When would she be touching down again anyway? Been nearly a year since they’d left her ship to make a name for themselves.. and he had a _lot_ to show her…

She still uses that little droid daily, chats idly to it as it sits on her office desk in the Mechanicum, blinking crude emojis at her as it happily translates Sei’s cranky mutters into a schedule that makes her life just _a bit easier._

* * *

JK’s silent hand over of something heavy and palm sized wrapped so _beautifully_ in patterned cloth had keyed her in on not opening it till she was alone, but that prescription lens…

Fitted so carefully onto a hinged frame she knew at a _glance_ would socket over her favored welding goggles? The crude but confident metal work, the _tiny_ flicks of coloured paint she recognised and warmed her heart immediately? That asshole.. that beautiful, clever bastard.

Said nothing, knew she didn’t need to, but it’s been YEARS and she still notices the slight puff to their chest and way they straighten a little taller when they spot it perched over her right eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	98. Whispers in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

* * *

##  **The Leech** takes everything and gives nothing.

It hates the twins in a way we can’t fathom, humans aren’t what it is. It doesn’t think or speak, it only feels, and the loathing that it pulses with towards these pathetic, broken insects that imprisoned and ripped it from the great song is _incomprehensible_.

No escape, no end, no way to be _whole_ \- just its warped voice split between two ignorant, useless parasites. It wants to **hurt** them, it wants them to suffer, so it gnaws at any flash of joy they experience. Tears apart what gives them comfort. 

…Eats them alive.

Tyreen’s great drive to find Pandora was fuelled by it, whispering promises of belonging, of family, of love into the ear of a teen who hadn’t felt any of those since Leda crumbled to ash by her feet. 

It insisted Typhon was wrong, the Bandit’s weren’t mad, they were _lost_. 

Everyone knows Pandorans are crazy. Everyone knows the “natives” that scour across the desert in warpaint and masks are a family of lost souls looking for belonging. The Leech whispers to Tyreen DeLeon that she could be their redemption, their mother, and she sets her plans to leave her prison planet in motion. They are her people, the abandoned and lonely it says. She can be their **God.**

It turned it’s teeth to the parts of Tyreen that were able to experience happiness the moment her feet touched Pandora’s dust and the Eridium it had been seeking to feed on didn’t respond. She was a dud. She was a broken, useless joke of a Siren host, and it _raged_.

* * *

Troy never stood a chance.

Without its presence he’d be naturally quiet, his low self esteem is part of his nature, though it would be _manageable_. The Leech hurts him through his flaws - the cracks in his ego. His own doubts creep into his worries, but once he reaches the end of that train of thought? **_It_** continues. He survives every day with something whispering _horrific_ shit into his ear even as he struggles to find ways of dealing with his own negative feelings, his paranoia and insecurities. It twists the knife a little deeper with every hissed mockery, and it’s done it his whole life.

So it’s.. sad. It’s just sad. Troy covets so much that his companions have. Love, friendship, care, but he can’t accept what he wants so desperately. The Siren power takes that from him.

If someone like JK who he admires _so much_ , who he has on a mental pedestal and wishes _he_ could be more like, offhandedly mentioned something about him they admired? It’s robbed from him. He’d have the moment of disbelief, the embarrassed shyness, the excitement then embarrassment _over the excitement_ , the stuttering and confusion and that kind of flushed cheek slightly teary-eyed response from someone who’s terrible at accepting positive comments about themselves… but then it’s the filth from The Leech just after.

The _moment_ he had a flash of happiness and maybe the first blossom of something that could be considered pride, it would be there:

“̶ They're w̵r̴o̵n̵g̴,̴ ̸ or they are l̷y̶i̶n̶g̸.̵"̸

̴"̸T̸h̸e̸y̵ ̴a̶r̶e making fun of̵ ̵y̸o̴u̴. Y̵o̷u̵‘̷r̵e not so stup̸i̶d̸ ̵t̸h̴a̷t you’d believe th̸i̶s̷,̶ ̶ you’re smarter than that. Yo̴u̷'̴r̸e̸ ̷c̸l̵e̵ver. ̴O̵f̴ ̷c̸o̴u̶r̷s̸ **e** that’s a lie, w̷h̷y̷ ̷w̴o̵u̷l̵d _anyone_ actually look up to you? Brok̷e̵n̵ ̵b̴o̸d̷y̶,̴ ̶r̶otting soul, w̶e̵a̵k̴ ̸b̸o̴nes and failing lungs? They ei̶t̶h̸e̷r̴ ̶d̴o̷ n’t know what they are saying or they are spitting in your fac̴e̸.̴ ̴Which is it?̵ ̸W̸h̴i̴c̷h do ̴y̵o̴u̴ ̵t̶h̵i̸n̴k̸ ̶i̶t̷ ̵i̵s̵?̸"̸

̷"̷O̸h̷,̴ ̴t̵h̴ey are your friend? _Are they,_ Tr̸o̴y̵?̵ ̶W̴e̵ll, then they don’t know. Tell the̶m̸ ̷exactly h̴o̸w̵ ̷ wrong they are so they won’t ever make that mistake again. Te̷l̶l̶ ̶t̴h̶e̶m̸ ̸w̸h̶y̵ ̷n̷o̵ one s̸h̸o̵u̵l̸d̸ ̵want you. ̷I̵t̷'̸s̷ ̷o̸k̵ ̴t̸o̸ ̷b̶e̶ ̵a̴n̵g̸r̴y, they should have known better. It’s their fault.”

##  _̷"̵ I̴t̶'̶s̸ ̷t̷h̶e̵i̶r̷ ̸f̷a̵u̶l̶t̶.̷_ **“̷**

That’s what he’s dealing with, always. With everything his entire life, and it’s not even in real words he can argue back with it’s just _feeling_. Ty echos the exact same shit to him audibly and he _tries_ to stand against it, always has, but it’s so much harder internally. He still fights it though, he always tries. He’s _exhausted_ by how much he has to work to keep it under control without even understanding what he’s constantly fighting, and it’s so very hard.

Seifa can’t explain it even when she’s seen it so for so long - the struggle. Can’t put it into a sentence she can express to the others, but she gets it.. an inkling of it, seen it behind his eyes so many _times. She’s_ seen.. eyes. Or maybe she’s just going mad, that’s a pretty likely option too.

Understanding the war raging inside Troy is why she asks what she does in an encrypted E-Com message the night she leaves. Begs Ven not to hate him even after everything.

She knows that if he wasn’t constantly fighting as hard as he is, there would just be _nothing_ of him left. Every single interaction would be a nightmare - constant aggression, jealousy, envy, hatred lashing out at everything.

For people looking from the outside he seems like a pathetic excuse for a man child, throwing tantrums and destroying rooms, but in reality these episodes of giving in are _so rare_ compared to how often he fights it back.

He’s surprisingly good at hiding it which is why he can come across "normal” sometimes and also means he’s desperately empathetic, but he’s just not experienced with people enough to place that empathy the right way very often, or respond to it in a way that helps and doesn’t actually make things worse.

That’s one of the reason his companions do actually like him still, why he’s magnetic in such a bizarre way. There is a clear awareness this man genuinely adores the few people who are kind enough to tolerate him and is _trying_ , but there’s a balance to consider. It doesn’t matter if he’s painfully aware he’s driving people away if he doesn’t correct the behaviour doing it.

* * *

On top of everything really, there’s **_Tyreen_**.

Ty’s defacto way of dealing with feeling _any competition_ for Troy’s attention is to just remove the competitor. It’s always been that way from the day she first felt the pang of unease when he started talking to Seifa after a month of them recovering on her ship.

Troy.. . Troy talks to **her** , not other people, Troy is _her_ brother, Troy is PART of _her_ , why is it fair that he not be there when _she_ needs him? When she’s lonely, when she needs his stupid smile and his terrible jokes and that _pathetic_ stutter…

But she can’t make the people he slowly befriends leave, they are all in positions of power where she isn’t able to make them vanish without it being _noticed_ , so she defaults to her second method.

Turn _him_ on _them_.

For all his bullshittery, Troy tolerates about ** _6 years_** of having Tyreen lying to him in private about how the others see him, how much they care. Subtle, knife-sharp, and building in _viciousness_ over time till by late COV when he begins to fall apart, it’s abusive mental warfare - and he **_never_** turns on them.

He breaks, he fucks up, he thinks Seifa is gone forever, he hurts JK, he works Ven to dust, but he never once turns on them in the way Tyreen has been seeding for years. He doesn’t let her win even though he refuses to even admit he’s aware what she’s doing and how many times it’s happened in the past one way or another.

So shit piling up in those 2 years without Sei, the strain from Ty, the weird shift from media to murder to chasing a _fucking VAULT_ , the no sleep, the fear for his friends even when he’s also losing the fight against the thing that makes him spit venom at them?

He just can’t do it forever.

##  The Leech takes everything and gives nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	99. The cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  Troy

Has **no** beliefs regarding it. It’s all fucking skagshit lol, new year? _**When**_. 

By what measurement? If he was on Nekrotafeyo a year would be longer, right? Or shorter… ok, so he’s never actually worked that out, but he _does_ know this entire thing is pure cringe.

It’s _marketing_. Some genius suit in a corp boardroom years ago has managed to make sure there’s a booming market for paper hats, and confetti he’ll be pulling out of his prosthetic’s joints for months after, and fireworks he trusts less than those prototype COV grenades he axed development of, and..

…he also knows he doesn’t want to be alone when that second ticks over.

He’ll sit in Sanctum for hours beforehand in silence, repeating the same, pointless, already completed tasks over, and over, and over to distract himself from glancing at his Echo every minute. Cleaning, checking feeds, running sub-numbers, any alert updates? How are the stocks doing. Meeting schedule for next week? Are those sponsors from Bariat-Epsil signed up? Anything to stop him from checking to see if anyone has pinged him - if his friends _want_ him around them tonight.

It would be nice if they did.

He won’t ask for company though - the hum in the back of his mind tells him that _wo ~~u~~ ~~l ḏ̸̽~~ be pa̶̧͉̫͎͋ͅͅt̴ ~~h̸etì̸̳ç̷~~_ , and he agrees. It _would be_ , so he pretends that he’s not praying they’ll reach out to him instead.

If they don’t, ~~_or he’s pushed them away to the point they’d have no reason to tolerate his presence_ ,~~ he leaves. A RAMPAGE in the upper city with his Vanguard - hits every club he can and basks in unadulterated _worship_ from a haze of drugs and bodies as they celebrate the turn of Pandora’s tide with their _King_. 

He’s… he’s not sure if he actually _enjoys_ it.

But it’s better than sitting in the cold dark of his ship, staring at Typhon’s last E-Com message - thumb trembling above the reply button.

A pitiful **God** worrying his lip bloody as he shakes like a child, all alone in his _lie_ of a castle while the city below him celebrates.

* * *

##  **Tyreen**

Gets very.. _introspective_ around this time of the year, always has. It’s almost like she gets these bizarre flashes of _seeing?_ It’s hard to describe, like shaking your head after a dive and feeling the water clear from inside your skull. Pressure eases off, she feels things. Worries, a spark of happiness… 

She gets fleeting moments of understanding things she wasn’t able to focus on before, or just couldn’t _experience_.

Gets very caught up in the celebration, the joy of the worshipers and clergy that surround her throne and quarters. Gets _excited_. All these E-Vids about resolutions! Goals, new you, new life! 

Change, _**she** can change! Just like everyone else can, just like all these other streamers and influencers are planning! _She can be happy.

She stays up all night for a few before, Ty doesn’t need the sleep anyway and it gives her more time to _plan_. Spreads notebooks and journals across her bed, documents everything she’s going to do! Checklists, organised calendars. Goals for her fans, her followers. Her devoted.

Bringing water to the outer villages - pipelines are doable with enough funding, sharing wealth from the Holy City’s medical stores with the people living on the desert skirts. She can wipe out hunger across the flats so easily! It’s all here, it’s all been here in front of her this _whole time_ , how did she not see before?All the ways she can be better, for her, for **Troy** , for the family she came here to bring belonging for.

Because that’s _why_ she came.. wasn’t it? It’s like she forgets for so long and then it’s back in that flash across her mind. She came to _save them_. She came to give them a life.

A home…

She’ll lead the Cathedral celebrations as the clock ticks over, raise a toast so charismatic and full of infectious excitement that it raises thunderous cheers across the entire city - her family’s chorus to the new dawn.

And hours later, she’ll forget it all again, just like _**e v ~~e ry~~ y̴̰͝ẽ̷̙ař̴͈.**_

* * *

##  **Seifa**

Has a bizarre mishmash of traditions and beliefs about it that she absorbed from the mixed cultures of the junker fleet. She uh.. she doesn’t really _believe_ them, she’s not stupid, haha. It’s just _good luck_ to keep performing what she was raised on, ok? Ok.

 _ALWAYS_ stays up till dawn and will insist the people she cares about try to too. Not verbally mind you, more like she’s an absolute nightmare and will do things like energy drink shot _whatever_ is in their unprotected glasses in a sneaky attempt to keep them going.

Dawn is the new start, you see? The sun or.. whatever the fuck Pandora has instead of a sun.. the moon(??) breaching the dark horizon, that wave of clean light that laps across the desert like liquid fire as it rises? **Purification** , don’t you get it?

 _New starts_. 

Witness it and you get a chance yourself, that’s how it goes. Burn up who you are in the cleansing light and blossom into something new - if you want. 

Like that bird that Roska told her about as a kid… she can’t remember its name, but she’ll drunkenly slur the story of the chick hatching from the ash of its past form to JK as they huddle next to her in the night-cold sand. Slap Ven’s leg and jolt him awake when he starts to snore. Pull Eli down in front of her to rest his head back against her shoulder as she wraps the blanket around them both.

And she’ll squeeze Calypso’s fingers gently as hers shiver, lean to the side and gesture for him to lower his head closer. So he can hear. 

“ _New starts, Troy. You get one yourself if you want, can be who **you** are_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	100. Words are easy, actions cut deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

Leaving Pandora was the right choice, not a fraction of a doubt. There was _no possible way_ to twist the logic that had driven Seifa to disengage her ship’s landing gear from the Mechanicum’s skyport and launch into orbit, but _man_. The regret hit harder and faster than she’d been ready for.

It wasn’t easy. Was never going to be regardless of how many months now she’d spent facing the dawning reality that every choice, every action the Twins were taking - that **Troy** was taking - would lead to this. She’d known even longer maybe, a year? Two? She’d just told herself she hadn’t. Lied, and Sei was _good_ at that.

It had been so difficult to accept, so hard to admit how terribly he was spiralling. Watching him slowly circle the abyss while insisting he was fine had eventually become impossible to hide anymore, just like the gnawing worry in her gut that grew by the day, the concerned glances between her friends in quiet company, the exhaustion, the stress…

Then finally, _what had happened tonight._

It didn’t _matter_ that she knew it had been coming, and Ven had been more than direct in his confirmation of that a long time ago, knowing wasn’t changing anything about how _right now_ felt. Her hand still throbbed as it rested against the dashboard in front of her, she was still alone in her patched together pilot seat, and her ship was hurtling through the cold of space towards an off-world COV base she already hated before even seeing, all while Seifa was leaving the people she called _home_ behind.

The city, she hadn’t even considered what leaving the Holy City would feel like.

You only understand how much you’ll miss something once it’s gone.

* * *

The first pang of loss is for the old hands she’d grown close to in the main Mechanicum hangar. It had nearly a thousand engineers moving through it daily, and many of the team leads and project heads had become _friends_. Tinks, people cobbled together from cybernetics and flesh, scarred up junkers, old cranky techs with half their teeth and fingers missing but a bite like a Kraggon and the wit to match, they were **all gone.**

She was alone in this new base now, a Saint, rather than a woman. They were _afraid_ of what she represented, the sigil on her back, her title. _She_ didn’t even exist here. The camaraderie she’d built in 5 years back in the Holy City was gone, and she wasn’t sure she had it in her to start again. Maybe it was easier to just stay detached and cold. Maybe it would be easier to _not_ open up and let others in again. It’s not like it had ended well with…she didn’t know what to call the twins anymore. _Mistakes_ , maybe.

The next thing she realised she’d taken for granted was how _bustling_ the Holy City had always been. She’d watched it grow from bare dirt and still saw it as a kind of shantytown, but the scale of its horrible _majesty_ really struck when she no longer had access those filthy, dark streets. It was a gothic spew of neon, blood, and laughter. Drug dens, cartels, flimsy stacks of housing built haphazardly on top of each other dotted with shrines and idols in worship to the Gods.

Holograms the size of buildings shining the twins effigies out of cobbled together skyscrapers, scrap metal spires piercing the skyline covered in neon lights, smoke and sweat and blaring music. An oily metropolis of garish paint and holy iconography, stained glass gore right next to massive monitors broadcasting _Lets Flays_ above the streets.

You could get _anything_ there. She could walk out of the hangar with a vanguard and find any delicacy she was in the mood for in the stalls littering the food distract, pick up any scrap metal she wanted from eager resellers ~~(long as she didn’t mind it was stolen~~ ), find black market goods, rare tech, out of production parts… and she was _safe_.

As many knives as were waiting to land in her back around every corner, there was a level of security from the patrolling crusaders, and the looming threat of the God’s wrath the residents lived under meant she was _unlikely_ to be shanked. There was _safety under_ Jak-Knife’s enforced rules.

There wasn’t here, and she found she was self isolating more and more, choosing to stay in her disgustingly sterile office, or her ship filled with the ghosts of friend’s laughter and warm nights. Seifa was choosing to be alone, even when it hurt a little bit more each time she’d spend an evening to herself. Always working or plotting, not hanging at her favourite bar with Ven, not letting Eli in on the latest dirt on Mouthpiece his fellow Saints were spreading across the inner echelon’s grapevine, not slinging an arm around the jagged shoulders of a fellow Saint as JK chuckled those raspy sounds through their respirator, or retreating to the God-King’s hallowed Sanctum to find her _friend._

Laughing along with his _stupid_ choking giggle, his sparkling blue eyes and lopsided grin.

She missed _them_ too. Both of them. She was still technically indentured, it’s not like she could _leave_ , but the two main reasons she had every stayed were like ice and fire. One refusing to communicate, the other sending bizarrely friendly pings, like nothing had ever happened, like they were _besties_.

Like she wouldn’t find herself having _an accident_ if she returned to Pandora.

She misses feeling like she had a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	101. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **Troy** **:**

There’s not a lot that **The Leech** can’t warp in his hollow, empty head and turn into something awful. He finds it desperately hard to take gestures of kindness at face value. They will be rolled around and around till they end up as mockery, or being used for personal gain, or sycophancy…

But he can’t do that with something simple like being thought of. Just being _thought of_ by someone _he_ cares about and sees as having value.

He’d never tell them, wouldn’t know the words to anyway, but stupid, subtle, tiny things matter more to him than anything else. They mean more than millions in sponsorship gifts, donated luxury cruisers. He’s deaf to the worship of _billions_ , but he’s saved an ecom message from Eli pinging him at 3am with a link to a vid on sitting posture and lumbar relief he saw and thought Troy might like.

Ven doesn’t know that he’s got a sugar packet from two years ago stashed in the box inside the side wall panel of his bedroom - the one with the old DeLeon patch coat and the _gun_ \- because it had come with a coffee Ven had grabbed for him from the undermarket before arriving to go through deal proposals with him one night.

> "You take cream, right? Thought you’d need this as much as I did, cold tonight, huh boss"

The quiet awkwardness after JK finishes a training round with him in the barracks isn’t due to frustration or embarrassment, he picked up on it - on the focus towards his right, the stance tips and gentle guidance of heavy hands shifting his arm into a position that defended his ribs. He’s not stupid, he _notices_.

Sei, those messages he never replies to? The reminder every couple of months that she sees him, she’s there if he needs her, it’s down to him to do the right thing and he’s _capable_ of it? All read, over and over, for years.

* * *

##  **Tyreen** **:**

When people really _listen_ to her. That’s how she knows it’s more, more than following a rule or showing fealty. People who REALLY listen ask questions back, they look at her in the eyes, they care about what she’s saying not that it’s her saying it.

It’s so rare as time goes on and she really does only have herself to blame. Cultivate being a monster and people will fear you like one, but every now and then, Tyreen comes across someone she can _almost_ think that in another life or at another time - could be her friend.

It’s usually someone not fully aware of what exactly she is. Someone who thinks the title, the cape and crown, are more for show than actual symbols - but that’s fine when it means they _look at Tyreen and listen_.

It’s so uncommon she gets to really have conversations. It used to be all the time! Her, Sei, Troy, shit-talking all night sometimes. Ven in the first couple of years could toss back easy banter, would listen with a tilt to his head as she chatted half seriously about a tentative mix of things as she tested the water. Seeing what he’d bite at. What he’d respond to, if it would only be work or would he.. actually care about the drops that were _her_. The shows she mentioned, the racer circuits she was considering sponsoring. She’d been so _happy_ when he’d started responding _back_.

But that doesn’t happen anymore, not with Sei, not with Ven, and barely if ever with Troy - his eyes still light up and that _stupid_ fucking smile splits across his crooked face when it does, but she just can’t get into the flow now. She _tries_ but. The words just.

When she talks, when she tries to really talk and hope someone will listen the way they used to, to Tyreen, the words just come out so horrible. She doesn’t _mean_ to be cruel.

But it happens anyway.

And she hates it.

* * *

##  **Seifa** :

Being confided in is a huge point for her when it comes to really feeling valued and cared for by someone.

Honesty has a high price, it’s a little window past someone’s defences and to their underbelly, _some_ people weaponise it - purposefully provide far too much sensitive information about themselves as a way to force the person they want to create a bridge with into feeling falsely bonded to them, and she’s learned to eagle-eye that from years of running deals. That’s not real. That’s fake.

But it’s real when Ven makes those half joke half painful references to how hard things have been for him, them. Subtle drops in tipsy banter late at night about childhood behind white walls, fear for Eli, how sight past sight _really_ feels.

It’s real when JK tells her those stories that are half Bandit cant. How she does her best to understand but can still see in the disappointed slope of their shoulders they know she isn’t grasping the way they wish she could, and the way their warm chuckle reassures her it’s fine, and they are just happy she’s _trying_ in the first place.

It’s real when Tyreen asks questions that aren’t questions at all. “You ever wish you were born someone else?” The way she doesn’t make eye contact as she picks at her nails and lets Seifa’s carefully chosen words blanket her in comfort afterwards, aimed at wounds that can’t be seen.

It’s real when Troy just goes quiet some nights, slumps forward exhaustedly and rests his head in mismatched palms. He doesn’t have to say things to confide - the pressing weight along her side as he leans subtly against where she sits next to him is enough, heart open and welcoming the arm she curves around his back.

She feels more wanted and loved when friends ask for this kind of comfort than she does facing tens of thousands as they grovel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	102. Sore spots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  Troy

Be cool if everyone wasn’t so hairy. **_Fuck_**.

JK has a treasure trail you could hang merc day ornaments on.

Ven’s shirts are about 2 inches padded from his skin at all times.

Sei… well he has no idea what Sei has and doubts that’s likely to change, but he’s _pretty_ sure there’s a trend going on and she’ll somehow put him to shame too. Can out moustache him or something. He doesn’t want to think about it, could get a bit _too_ real.

He’s so _sparse,_ it’s so _embarrassing_. He knows deep down no one but him gives a fuck about this, the tats and piercings work the aesthetic, of _course_ he’d wax, right? He’d be clean shaven? He pulls this shit off **well** and he knows it. He looks **good** , but it being intentional?

 **Bitch** he wishes. He plucks - the three or four chest hairs he _does_ grow. He _has_ a treasure trail he wants to show off but it’s too fucking low, his ass will be OUT if he drops his pants any more. Has arm hair, but has to shave that or his already shitty looking Siren markings are _worse_ , it’s so cringe. It’s all so fucking stupid but he can’t _help_ but constantly compare himself around these masculine people who so effortlessly outdo him in something so simple and so clearly viewed as “ ~~manly~~ ”. 

It’s like, a secret failure. No one would know how much he really does care.

##  **Tyreen**

Has no idea what the hell she is saying like, 30% of the time. NONE.

What **IS** poggers???

She’s expected to be on top of every new piece of slang that pops out of an influencer’s ass before it even _hits_ mainstream attention, the media team and Troy’s own scripting research keeps dropping new terms into her prompter pretty much every day and she straight up does not know what this shit means. Relies on practiced inflections to sound confident.

Shits herself over the reality she **is** going to mispronounce… Turdburglé or Flimbis or whatever new shite she’s to say in an hour’s time. Are you allowed say _on fleek_ anymore? Is that gone? **_Dude_**.

She can’t keep up. It’s left to the people whose jobs it is to write and keep her lines fresh, but goddddd every time a new one appears in her next line she gets that momentary pang of intense embarrassment that she’s a _second_ from fucking up in a way that will make her a laughing stock to billions.

I mean, she’ll just kill anyone who smirks, but that ain’t _really_ going to make it feel better, is it.

* * *

##  **Sei**

How she _sounds_.

She’s always been painfully aware of how shite her singsong voice is for threatening. She can pull off sultry, she can handle biting snark, she’s got those pinned but fucking hell she really can’t come across as sounding dangerous. 

She’s highly frustrated by this because honestly? That’s a _skill_. That’s so useful! There’s been so many situations she would have loved to have _sounded_ aggressive in to back up her body language, her underhanded threats, but she just… she can’t. 

An upset or extremely angry Sei sounds like a choking Rakk, gets all hitched breath and tight throated. _Cannot_ pull it off. She sounds like she’s going to cry half the time and man, it’s so embarrassing. Well it is to her, anyway.

Looks to the people around her with a _lot_ of envy about this in secret. Ven sounds like someone poured caramel over a switchblade. JK can **growl** out threats in a tone that implies as much control as a muzzled Skag, and Troy just.

Just.

Troy doesn’t even _need_ to talk sometimes. Troy can leave someone pooling piss in their boots with a _sound_.

She can’t do threatening. She wishes she could - be one of those stunningly vicious women she admires, but she can’t, so she sticks with snark and cut-throat insults.

Because she _can_ do nasty bitch, and no point wasting something you’re good at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	103. When it's cold (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

Tyreen has always acted like coming here was the best decision she’s made for them, it’s pissed him off more than she’s ever appeared to notice, but then again her pretending like she isn’t picking up on his frustrations is nothing new.

She’s spent years singing this planet’s praises, how she loves everything about it and he should be thankful that his sister got them out of the cage that was their home, but she can’t lie to her twin. Never could, even though it’s not _once_ stopped her from trying.

Troy knows her better than his own scars, and for all her intense skill in bullshitting, he sees through her _every time_. Even the times he really wishes he didn’t.

She fucking **HATES** Pandora as much as he does. Hell, maybe even more, her rage always tracked deeper through her bones than his could muster. He’s too tired to hate the way she does, it’s exhausting to burn with that dark a fury for so long.

He told her to her face the day they landed here that this planet was a _shithole_. He told her he wanted to go home, that staying here was not going to pay off the way she insisted it would for them. He’s told her the same thing practically every day since in one way or another, but she shrugs it off, twists it into a joke, reassures him in that silky smooth purr that it’s not _that_ bad, that the filth of old blood in the sand and choking dry heat is worth it for what they have become.

 _Stars_.

And maybe it would have been worth it if they had just _stayed_ stars like she’d originally wanted, but things have changed over the years. He hates himself for believing her when he knew, just like he always did, that she was lying. Now that goal he worked so hard to reach for them both has been ripped from his grasp, now he’s stumbling behind her again as she demands he turn his cunning towards her _new_ target - to be Gods, and Troy’s not sure he actually wants to be a God… not on Pandora.

He’s heard enough about the deities of this place from the natives to know whatever Pandora sees as holy is something far beyond his pathetic being. Shuddered as Jak-Knife wove myth of the great flood and the hunger beneath the sands, felt nausea snake through his stomach as they described something both terrible and disturbingly familiar. The _eyes_. The _maw_.

The **great hunger** of the _mad song._

That’s not who he is even if the thrill of fear that runs down his spine when he considers it is almost pleasure, and it’s not who he _wanted_ to be, if he still remembers correctly at least. The Troy he wanted to be is probably dead now, another desiccated corpse claimed by survival on Pandora. The possibility of that life is gone, he thinks. He’s not even really sure if _he’s_ alive - the Troy he became in the end.

Tyreen says “ ** _We_** ” will be Gods when she snares him so kindly in those manipulations whispered like love. “ _We_ ” used to mean him and her back when they were two parts of the same whole and Mom would remind them how that would never change, but he’s started to really question if it has.

Tyreen’s “ _We_ ” now rings with the dread of something he can’t quite place.

* * *

Nekrotafeyo was beautiful. Cool, rich blues marring into the same violet-black you’d catch behind your eyelids just before drifting into sleep. The sky was so _many_ colours at sunset, and plants, animals, all living things gently pulsed with a bio-luminescence that meant night was never _true_ darkness. 

Pandora is dead.

It’s just.. sand and jutting rocks in formations that don’t track naturally, that gave him fever dreams for the first couple of years about the _things that must have shaped them_. The air tastes like chemicals. The dirt is laced with oil, it’s vile. It’s sticky, ravenously hot, freezing cold, and it doesn’t _want_ you to live on it.

He won’t rule Pandora as a deity, he can’t. It’s not made for that. 

Pandora is a tomb, and in the back of God-King Calypso’s mind, he’s pretty sure _he’ll die here_ just like the thousands who’ve gurgled his blessed name through their last breath in honor to their Holy Father. He won’t go in a blaze of glory, those are for the good and he’s anything but, he’ll just probably be a corpse his sister uses as a stepping stone to lurch towards her divinity.

That sounds about right for someone like _him,_ and as the years go on, as he realises Seifa is not coming back and his friends are cracking under the burden of his existence in their lives, he thinks about it more and more.

Sometimes, on those icy cold Pandoran nights when he can’t sleep, when he’s been awake days and his eyes feel like their full of grit and joints ache with every breath, he goes _outside_.

Sanctum is docked near the pinnacle of the Grand Cathedral, like a thorn jutting from the tower of the twin’s shared cloister. It’s so high that the screeching noise of the night city below is almost drowned out by the wind that whistles through the gothic parapets, and sometimes when his kingdom is laced in glittering frost reflecting the glaring neon of the lights that dot the streets, he scales it.

Awkwardly clambers up the side of his ship as the dead weight of that horrible arm pulls at his spine with each twist, fingers fumbling for grip in the little rivets of freezing sheet metal as he hauls his heavy, exhausted body up inch by inch till he reaches the flat of the hull and crawls to the centre.

Throws his coat down and sits on the pooled fabric, pulls his knees up to his chest, closes his eyes, and _waits_ as he focuses on the distorted music and crowd chatter that manages to filter from the metropolis so far below.

Let’s the freezing cold air goosebump his bare skin as it leeches his warmth and creeps through the iron of his bracer, straight into his bones. Waits for his lungs to start stuttering out puffs of steamy breath as he begins to shiver under the clear night sky. Waits, and thinks about _not having been born_.

When he gets _just_ cold enough, he can’t feel his broken body anymore, but he can think so _clearly_ and he wonders if this is what it would be like. Not being in pain. Not living under the mental fog of the cocktail of drugs he relies on now just to ward off the nightmares. Not holding so much pathetic regret inside his ribs.

Not **_dying_** , that’s something else, being alive and then deciding to not be is very different and he’s not a coward. He’s _not._ Just… not having existed in the first place at all.

That’s not the same. That’s very easy to imagine even if you’re _not_ a coward. 

If he’d never been born _so many people_ would be so much happier.

Tyreen would be… whole. She’d be _pure,_ wouldn’t she. If he hadn’t taken half of her power the way he did, she wouldn’t be the way she is now. She’s told him that plenty, how it’s his fault _. **All of it.** _ Mom would never have died. Dad would have stayed full of sunshine and jokes and love. Where would they be now as a family, them and Ty? Travelling the universe? Seeking out siren lore?

Leda wouldn’t be dead. Typhon wouldn’t be abandoned. Tyreen wouldn’t be whatever the fuck he’d helped turned her into. A monstrous god of her own making, or a sad child crying for her parents. He’s not sure which.

Troy has damaged so many people by being alive and there’s no _goodness_ from it. There’s no _payoff,_ no benefit. What’s the point of it?He’s broken. The power he stole doesn’t even _work_ , so what was it all for? What’s he done bar cause pain and death just by _existing_?

Is that not _exactly what a parasite does_?

The COV wouldn’t exist if he’d never. The billions they’d affected would be all the better for it really, despite what they tell each other about “bettering” the lives of Pandora’s lost and the galaxy’s lonely. 

Eli and Ven would have found someone better to seek help from, wouldn’t they. The Oracle wouldn’t be the shadow of himself that he is now, exhausted and so _sad_. Jak-Knife would probably be leading their own clan, not babysitting a pathetic excuse for a man that worked them to the bone while simmering with jealousy towards how much he wished he _was_ them.

Seifa… 

If he’d died on Seifa’s ship, where would she be? Somewhere warm and nice where when it rained the water was refreshing and not a slurry of red dust. With someone who deserved her.

He knows where she is now and he wouldn’t _punish_ someone by exiling them to the station she was rotting on… and it was **his fault** she was there.

The back of his mind agrees that he is the crux of so much pain. _He’s_ the one that’s the cosmic mistake.

Sometimes he’d like to ask Leda, she’d know the answer. Mom had known everything when they were little, had the answer to every curious or confused question from little minds, so he tries to. Whispers a question he doesn’t even understand to the stars through chattering teeth. He _wishes_ she could hear him.

He’s always _relieved_ when she can’t.

The cold defeats him in the end, every time. His body forces him to struggle to his feet and stiffly begin the climb back as the city below starts to quiet, shimmying slowly down the hull between handholds that bite into his icy fingers as the wind howls. 

There’s a fleeting thought whenever he’s slowly picking his way down to the entry port that it would actually be _really easy_ to slip, and he’s surprised it hasn’t happened yet. THAT would be the kind of ending he’s going to get anyway, one stupid little mistake from a hand he can barely feel, and all that would be left of him would be a mess for some poor fucker below to clean up. 

He smirks at it, but knows in reality his traitorous wings would _save him_. 

The port airlock hisses open and he stumbles into the warmth of his ship every time, he doesn’t fall, he doesn’t cease, he just passes out in the cocooning dark of his bedroom.

It’s survival instinct that does it, that makes him move and forces him back inside, but he still goes outside on those freezing nights, because maybe one night… it finally _won’t_.

Not that he’d get to be that lucky, _he’s_ got a cult to run in the morning, and Tyreen would never forgive him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	104. Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

Troy designed it as part of the aesthetic changes he made to himself over the first year that they began to grow their following, trying to find his place in this new set of identities they had crafted. The piercings were first, then the arm and back tats, then the chest piece, and _Calypso_ last. The maw was different, it came years after. 

Does the skull have deep meaning to him? No. _He’d_ say no anyway.

Like almost everything he creates, it’s rooted in parts of his psyche that he finds uncomfortable.

If you were to keep pushing him to explain why he’d designed a horned skag mouthed monster to ink across his heart. then he’d start getting defensive pretty quick, he’d go weird, he’d go _snappy_ , because at the end of the day he doesn’t LIKE to think about his own decisions too deeply. It’s rarely a happy outcome and he usually regrets trying to delve into his own warped logic too far.

What is it exactly?

It’s a lot of things. A lot of feelings, fears he came across early on Pandora.

Skags eat each other, you know. **Cannibals**. The most powerful leads the pack and consumes the runts. Family, _siblings_ , doesn’t matter to them. Nature isn’t cruel, it just doesn’t care - and he’d taken quite a while to not _squirm_ internally when Skags would race alongside the technical he was being driven in, or he’d hear them howling through the night dunes in that choking, stomach turning choir…

He _still_ sees skulls outlined in the shape of the masks the Bandits around him wear. Genuinely believed that was what they were meant to be - death masks - for the first few months planetside, because _everything_ represented death here. The fauna, what remained of the flora, the fucking _buildings_ were half organically shunted out of the skeletons of things long gone and too monstrous for him to fathom. Nekrotafeyo had no Megafauna and those things, those husked bone skulls the size of a cathedral gave him nightmares for a _long_ time.

The tattoo is all of that really. _Pandora_.

Inking it into his skin was a way of trying to be part of a world he knows he’s anything but.

He’s never really understood this place, it’s all an act, it’s all a costume. Even years later he feels isolated and confused most of the time, a complete outlier in a reality that the people around him seem to take to so easily, that they _get_ while he struggles to not drown in. The tattoos are just part of that disguise, really. If he covers himself in effigies of what he thinks Pandora is, what Bandits are, if he styles himself to be as cruel and harsh as the land he’s trying to survive on, maybe he can trick it into accepting him.

I mean it worked on their followers… _right_?

* * *

Seifa’s take on it was as part of his “costume”. She’s seen that kinda thing plenty, knows all about dressing in _character_ and slipping into practiced confidence and speech mannerisms, played _lots_ of roles when needed throughout her life, and it’s an old trick. It’s been around a lonnnnng time.

All of it together: the godawful hair, the tattoos, the tryhard makeup he really wasn’t pulling off well but was _acting_ like he did, she’d seen all that shit before in different fabrics and styles. A person wearing the shell of another one they’d designed to fit a niche - and he was pretty good at it! That was the surprising part.

When she took the offer and touched down on Pandoran dust for the first time in a year since leaving them with a deposit on a tiny studio in that off road port village, he _almost_ had her fooled.

So loud, so over the top, all quick wide gesturing and bravado. Practiced cocky accent, practiced movements, practiced way of _standing_ … if she didn’t _know_ this guy she’d had said he was an arrogant piece of shit who thought he was God’s gift to mankind… but Sei _did_ know him. Still Troy, still lost and a bit confused and so _happy_ to see her. Still excited to show her everything he and Tyreen had worked on since she’d said goodbye to them both, still nearly tripping over himself to tail behind her eagerly as she walked towards the rumbling escort of COV branded vehicles, yapping gleefully through that hiccuping stutter like a giant, stretched out puppy.

Everything about him visually was part of that façade. This character he’d made for himself was an asshole but a fucking _entertaining_ one, and she never put more thought into the designs he’d covered himself in than being impressed. They were decent. The centerpiece was _nice_ , and he’d beamed with pride as he explained _he’d done it himself_.

She never thought it looked grotesque, the skull. It filled out his skinny little chest and decorated his bones in a way that complimented them.

But as the years went on and he started obsessing over his build, it warped somehow. She wasn’t as comfortable seeing it, something different in the way it sneered from bulging planes of hard muscle compared to how she recalled what it _used_ to look like. It had been part of a costume back then, but it was part of **Troy** now.

It’s still beautiful, but it’s not what it used to be, decayed somehow. Gone wrong.

She doesn’t put that much thought into it though, I mean, it’s _just_ a pattern, and that shiver when she thinks about its echo in the sigil tattooed across her back is _just_ all in her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	105. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  **Troy**

You get married, that’s how it works. He knows that because it happened the same way in all the movies he’d watch over and over with Ty and Dad back home, back before the Echonet and _other people_. Someone will find you who makes your heart pound and the world drip with colour and you’ll know you’re meant to be with them forever, and you’ll love each other and get married. 

That’s how it **works**.

It was probably a big factor in why he fell in love so many times in those first couple of years on Pandora, or what _he_ believed to be love at least. Balancing a constant fear of being _revealed_ as a fake but wanting so desperately for someone to care about who you _really_ are will gnaw away at your insides, and each rejection confused and enraged him more.

It _was_ love, he loved them? It was love, but they’d just laugh, or worse, go quiet. Stare at him like he was something pitiful when he _wasn’t_ , he’d made sure that no one who looked at him could _possibly_ think that, so when they did anyway? It tore through that paper thin ego, ate into the flimsy self-esteem he’d tried to reinforce with jagged steel.

You’re _meant_ to get married. That’s how it _works_ … you meet someone and they fill a missing part of you that's been slowly haemorrhaging lifeblood, they make you _happy_ , and you get married.

But it doesn’t work for him like it did in the movies, like Dad said it had when he met Mom, and he _can’t understand why_.

Tyreen laughs and tells him it’s because he’s stupid. 

> “You’re meant to love _yourself_ first, Troy. _Weren’t you paying **attention**_?" 

But what the fuck does _she_ know, she’d never really been watching the same way he had. How the twins view things has always been painfully different, even since they were kids. Mom used to say it was a good thing, that their different focuses complemented each other, would help them both understand the world. Feels like bullshit in hindsight.

He wants to love, he wants to find that person that exists who fits against the broken edges of who he is with their own being, but he thinks he won’t… 

Maybe the Troy who was on Nekrotafeyo would have, but the Troy who is Calypso has twisted itself into something too warped to find a match.

* * *

##  **Tyreen**

Oh she’s absolutely going to be married and _wait till you see the wedding_. It’s going to be celebrated across the whole freaking _Universe_. Once she’s a God, and she **_will_ **be a God, all the things she’s always wanted but never been able to grasp will be hers.

 _Everyone_ will love her, they won’t have a choice. 

She’ll be able to do all the things she’s dreamed of once she’s divine, once she finally sates the hunger for this power that’s torn at her for her whole life. She’ll be happy. She’ll be whole. She’ll be the perfect Queen for all the lost and broken across the Galaxy, and she’ll find someone who loves her the way she deserves.

Who _really_ loves her, loves Tyreen the way she remembers herself being because she won’t have to keep this act up anymore, you get it? When she’s a God, when she doesn’t feel this burning urge in her veins to chase the Great Vault, she’ll be able to relax, drop the façade, _breath_. People will love her then the way her family loved her, the _real_ way, and then she’ll find the one who loves her the most and _wait till you see_. They’ll be happy forever and ever and ever, and it will be perfect, and every screen in every shithole on every planet will broadcast the most fairy tale wedding that’s ever happened

It’s that simple. She doesn’t consider any other possibilities - when she takes the hand of the person who _loves_ her more than anything else in the universe, they will live happily ever after.

**The End.**

* * *

##  **Seifa**

Marriage is the logical finality to the kind of long term relationship _intimate_ in its comfort and vulnerability that she’s always pursued, but at this point it’s the kind of wish that’s been shelved and only gets brought out for the odd little daydream or late night sniffle when she’s alone enough to let the armor crack.

She’s had offers, hell she’s accidentally accepted a couple without realising ( ~~barter traditions get WILD the further outer ring you go when planet-hopping~~ ), but she’s never stuck the landing. It’s never _suited_.

Sei spent far too many years thinking she wasn’t built for it anyway, too flighty, too distrusting, too _flimsy_ to be what she’d want her partner to be.

If she was too fucked up to support and love another the way she so desperately craved someone would her, then who was she to dare take that from them? She knows she’s a mean bitch, but _that’s_ beyond her. She couldn’t do that… it wouldn’t be fair, so it was better to just distance herself from seeking it at all. She wasn’t a good enough person to deserve what she wanted, so it wouldn’t be an even deal - and you don’t fuck over someone you _love_.

Problem is, the longer she spent in the Holy City, the deeper the friendships she found herself falling into rooted through her bones, and over time, questions she’d prefer to block out started flittering across the back of her mind. Maybe.. maybe she _could_ be stable. Maybe she _could_ make people happy, _could_ be someone worth caring about. 

Every half-insult half-genuine adoration muttered between her and Ven made it worse, every slightly too tight hug and thoughtful message of concern for her from JK, every beaming grin and eager conversation from Eli, every warm heavy silence next to an exhausted but content Troy as he’d gesture for her to keep talking, smile wrinkling the corners of his darkened eyes.

Questions. Had she lost any chance by throwing away so much time when she’d been wrong all along.

Easier to drink than answer them, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	106. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

It’s actually **Tyreen** that suffers long term pain from body damage. It’s _her_ who has to carry that burden.

You wouldn’t think it to look at them though, it’s **Troy** that’s usually barely able to hide how hitched his breathing is or mask the cold sweat beading along his hairline, struggling to maintain composure next to his flawless sister as the ruin under his bracer burns, but that’s not natural - that’s almost completely _self-inflicted._

Troy wasn’t in agony on Nekro, and he wasn’t during his first couple of years on Pandora. The shit he deals with now was a slow build of very destructive behaviours that targeted and worsened the damage to his right. The massive arm was initially just part of _a costume,_ but slowly turned into _armour,_ that ended up mutating into some warped form of punishment he forced on himself. The severe nerve damage and back pain is not normal, it’s manufactured, not that he’ll tolerate even the slightest hint of that being the truth. 

The scarring hurt a _lot_ as he grew, injured tissue slower to stretch than the rest of him, but by adulthood it was more just the odd pinched nerve. Back pain from carrying weight on his left, pulling himself up steep inclines with just one arm, that kind of thing, but he doesn’t have phantom pains because there was _never anything there_. 

Your body can’t miss what it never had, and the severe pain he is in during the rise of the COV is from abuse he inflicts on himself while insisting he’s not. Troy has a million excuses queued mentally for justifying not taking the bracer off when he damn well knows it’s only causing more long term damage, and it’s always the same shit:

  * He might need to make an emergency appearance. 
  * It takes too long to disengage and he’s too overworked to spare the time. 
  * He needs the second hand for what he’s working on tonight.
  * He’s used to sleeping in it and he can’t afford not to get those few hours a night. 
  * That it’s _protecting_ delicate injured areas... 



He’ll tell himself anything that works, that lets him pretend it doesn’t need to come off. 

40kg of jagged metal socketed into the vice grip of a bracer that’s resting partially on _stunted bone_ will wreck your body even if worn for just a couple of hours a day. If you spiral into a mental reliance where the idea of _not wearing it_ feels more damaging than the physical toll?

Well.

He’s not in a good place. On the rare occasions he’s been convinced to only wear pressure padding for a couple of days, when sick or on reprieve, it heals so fast… and then he’ll heave that weight back onto still tender bruising and start the whole cycle again.

But Tyreen? Tyreen’s body remembers _everything_. 

* * *

Ty never chose any part of what curses her, and it’s not fair. She knows that, she **seethes** as she watches Troy willingly destroy himself when he has the _choice_.

She hasn’t forgotten when she could straighten her fingers all the way, how joints didn’t burn like ice when a storm brewed, and _what it felt like to not be so hungry you wanted to tear yourself open_.

The character Troy plays in their Twin Gods act is surly and quiet, it’s a commanding presence in the background of streams. He only needs to flick into being engaging and charismatic when he takes the limelight, and he shifts into that act so _fluidly_ it’s like watching magic. He’s _expected_ to scowl and snarl in the background, he can show pain in his own way. 

She can’t.

Tyreen, God Queen, Vault Mother, Gilded Sister, has to be perfect _all the time_. It doesn’t matter if he’s taking the lead or it’s his gig - some product review while she’s just making an appearance for fanservice, she needs to look, sound, and act like she’s nothing but raw confidence and flawless grace. That’s what her worshippers expect, that’s what she’s sold herself as, so that’s what she always needs to be.

He can silently let himself show weaknesses around the people close to him. A strained glance towards a knowing Ven who can drop into effortless showmanship and draw the crowd’s eyes from their struggling King. A lean against the solid wall of Jak-Knife’s side as they subtly take his weight and prop him during long sermons. Accepting care from Seifa in the privacy of his quarters that’s so stern it _borders_ on bullying, but he’s more thankful for than he’d ever let her know. Troy has those options.

She has _no one_ bar him to show vulnerability to, and it doesn’t matter that it’s her own fault.

Only Troy knows how that hand can lock up or how to massage out the burning that cracks through damaged joints in her fingers, only Troy has some minute understanding of the hunger, the cramping, roiling pain deep in her guts that feels like it’s ripping her intestines into nothingness, emptying her slowly from some bottomless void inside. It _hurts_.

 **All**. **The**. **Time**.

She doesn’t need to sleep, and it’s a blessing really because as time goes on and the hunger moves from coming in pangs to being a constant, she couldn’t if she tried. Even when she manages to filter it out to some extent, to distract her brain away from it as much as possible with more explosive sensations like anger or jealousy, it’s still there - _always_. Driving her to any means to sate it.

That was attention at first. Then love. Then _sacrifice_. Now it’s the stars, the only things big enough she could imagine would fill that gaping **nothing** that rages like a vortex within her little body.

It’s too huge, it’s too impossibly massive a feeling for just a woman to contain, to deal with. So, she won’t be just a woman, she’ll be a _God_ instead, you see?

Easy.

 _ **I̴̓͜t̵̲̀**_ tells her how simple an answer there is. A God is more than she is, and a God is what she should always have been. Eat the Universe, Tyreen. End the great hunger. 

##  _**Liv e happ̵̼̐ĭ̴̙ly ev̵͈̓er ả̶̲f̵͖͗t̷̼̋ė̶̹r̷̥͠.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	107. Crux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

* * *

##  **Tyreen**

_Leda_

There isn’t anything Ty could have done differently or changed in her life that would have altered the path she would be forced down, that’s totally out of her control. She’s just a puppet at the end of razor wires when it comes to her decisions, her drives. It wouldn’t have _mattered_ what she had set her sights on when they reached Pandora. Could have worked in Eridium mines, could have become a merc, could have been a million different versions of herself and they _all_ would have ended the same - a semi possessed dictator chasing after something she doesn’t want and doesn’t even understand, dragging her bloodied twin along behind her.

But there is one thing she _could_ have chosen differently that would have altered that path massively, and it was what happened to her mother.

They were only 8, Troy and her, and she tries to convince herself often that that’s excuse enough. Little kids can’t control their temper well, right? It wasn’t her fault, that’s just how children that age are… except she knows that’s a lie because she can distinctly remember making the **choice**.

> “Use your _words_ , Starlight.”

Told lovingly so often, over and over by parents who wanted the best for her, who she trusted, who she knew were right every time she gave in to the anger and saw the disappointment in their eyes after, or like in Troy’s as he turned and ran sobbing back towards their home while blood trickled down his shirt.

She knew they were exhausted, she knew the silence that hung like a guillotine over her brother’s bed on that terrible night meant this time _wasn’t for her_ , but she’d made the choice. She could have used her words - but lashing out just _felt so much better_.

If she hadn’t thrown that tantrum, screeching and flinging herself around the room, slamming her fists into half repaired O2 scrubbers she _knew_ breaking would upset her parents, then Leda wouldn’t have had to grab her, that slap wouldn’t have come. The “ _Universe does not revolve around YOU, TYREEN_.” wouldn’t have been needed, and her powers wouldn’t have flared in response to the rush of uncontrolled emotion.

She _made_ that choice. 

She wanted the attention, she wanted to hurt them, she wanted Mom and Pop to stop staring at her stupid, limp, pale, wheezing brother and look at HER, and that killed their mother.

If Leda had not died that night, Troy wouldn’t have lived.

If Troy hadn’t lived, she never would have been able to leave Nekrotafeyo.

Would she have turned on her parents eventually, when her half of The Leech grew sick of waiting to be whole and realised the useless host it was trapped inside was unable to absorb what Troy had contained? **Probably**.

But she would never have reached Pandora, and that would have been for the better of the entire Universe.

* * *

##  **Troy**

> _“-tsk-… not like I have a **choice.** ”_

That’s a lie. He _always_ did.

It’s really hard to say if the reason Troy has always submitted to Tyreen is because of The Leech’s influence, the Mouth commands and the Eye watches after all, or if it’s just his natural disposition. For all his skill in leading, he doesn’t enjoy it and never has. He likes to be _useful_ , not in control. He wants satisfaction, not attention.

When she demanded he fly them off planet to leave Typhon and the only life he’d ever known behind like who he was didn’t matter, it didn’t even cross his mind to just say _no_. Too conditioned from years of knowing he could be so easily overpowered mentally and physically by his stronger twin to understand how effortlessly he could drag her away from that ship and enforce _his_ will. He’s over a foot taller, even at his thinnest he massively outweighs her, and they **both** know her powers don’t work on him.

Tyreen has been the dominant twin for practically as long as he can remember. There was a time when they were very young that they were equal physically, but as he got sicker, the gap between them grew. In Troy’s mind, Tyreen is still able to push him over, crack his skull against a rock with ease. In his mind, she can still pin him while wrestling, lean weight down onto the weak side of his ribcage where there’s no shoulder blade to protect it. She can twist his arm till his joints pop and then somehow convince everyone else that he’d just had an accident. She’s faster, and stronger, and more dangerous than him - except in reality it’s the _total opposite_.

He just doesn’t see what other people do so clearly.

He’s fully aware of all this, but he still tells himself he has no choice, and every time he’s done that he’s shifted the course of his own future in a way he doesn’t actually want.

He’s _always_ had a choice.

Even as she demands he turn the entire CoV towards hunting the Great Vault and abandoning everything the cult has worked towards since they birthed it, he defers to her command. Why? If he was to pin her against a wall, dare her to **MAKE HIM** , what would happen? If he confined her in a cell of raw Eridium, who does he _actually_ think would fall first? He needs energy from her, yes… but Tyreen needs to feed constantly. He _knows_ that. He knows that removed from sources to Leech from, she’d be left begging for his help well before _he’d_ starve.

Every single time he tells himself he has no choice, he’s making one.

* * *

##  **Seifa**

> _“You sure about this? Could use you at deck this season, gonna be a busy one, girl. Stay on, earn a bit more for the savings, cover your ass before you make the jump?”_

> _“Nahhh Boss. It’s time. Gut ain’t done me wrong yet, and it’s feeling like I should set out. Anyway, you won’t get rid of me that easy, I’ll still touch base every few months.”_

> _“Ugh… And here’s me thinkin’ I’d finally be done dealin’ with you…”_

> _“Hahaha, you WISH old man!”_

If Sei hadn’t left the fleet when she did, she would be absolutely _miserable_. 

Not that she has any way to know that, and she’d bitch that she’s miserable **now** anyway, but she’s not really. Not in comparison.

She set out on her own earlier than the norm, just turning 20. Usually fledgers would stick around till 23, 24, long enough to have a backup cache - enough to cover a lean season of income or some bum deals, but she’d insisted _she_ wouldn’t fail, and she’d been partially right in the end.

If she’d stayed, that confidence would have slowly ebbed away. Been handed the next group of Rosk orphans to train up. Gotten attached. Gotten bored. Met someone who liked her enough to tolerate him and justify pushing her leaving date back a couple of years. Then a couple more. Then a few more… till even she knew it was just lip service and she wasn’t going anywhere. 

The next Rosk in a line of Rosks raising more Rosks and withering away in _relative_ success till she’d take Boss’s role when he eventually pissed off to the great beyond.

Never would have touched Pandora. 

Wouldn’t have cared about whatever was happening on that rock, with the Dune Witch and that, what was it, the “ _Crawling Sorrow_ ” or something? Whole planet was being consumed by a mad space sorceresss from one side, and a _curse_ or something from the other.

Deserved it anyway. Fuckin shithole, lol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	108. DeLeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

##  ** **

##  **No one** knows about **DeLeon**.

Not Seifa, not Sol, not any of Tyreen’s sycophants or Troy’s closest friends. They’ve told no one and managed to keep that secret unspoken between them for years.

It’s not out of pride or privacy, and there’s no sinister reason lurking behind why the Twin’s adamantly refuse to talk about their parents around other people, it’s just _being clever_. They made the choice to go by Calypso before they even landed on Pandora, Ty happy to leave any part of Typhon behind her, and Troy worried about the fame their pop had constantly insisted followed his name.

They were going to attract attention as Sirens already, if people knew who their father was, what next? Would they be hounded for his location? Could they end up making Nekrotafeyo and everything their parents had fought to keep hidden be unearthed by the corporations they had spend their childhood being warned about?

He agreed with Tyreen to completely drop their surnames, but not for the same reasons.

Troy will rarely choose to speak about “Mom and Pop”, usually only when necessary and only with people he trusts, and there’s a guarded curtness to it when he does. He’s never mentioned their names directly, and is pretty clear about not wanting to discuss them if pushed at all. It’s not that he doesn’t trust the people he cares about, it’s _not_ that… it’s because he’s Troy Calypso now, and he left DeLeon behind when he killed off who he used to be.

The risk of that not actually being true is too terrifying for him to even consider, so it’s easier to just.. _not_ share.

His friends wouldn’t hurt him with who he used to be if they found out, he’s pretty certain of that anyway. Who’s Typhon DeLeon to Jak-Knife when they see the truth of who Troy is in every glance, and Ven ain’t the kind of person to hold someone’s past as blackmail, he’s sure of that. Sei however, is a **pox**.

She’s been trying to “subtly” dig more information out of him for years about his parents. That’s just who she is though - _nosy_ , and he’s practiced enough in dealing with her. Throws the odd little bit of incorrect info like mismatched first names, fully aware she’ll be rooting through old recon files for _days_ later. Helps him relax knowing she’s probably up at 4am, pulling her hair out in front of a buzzing terminal.

Problem is, while being at ease enough around her to pass out at his desk or draped across his couch is something he takes great comfort in, Troy dreams **plenty** of home, and _he talks in his sleep sometimes._

Typhon Calypso - she’s got that much.

I mean _Typhon_? _Tyreen_? That’s gotta be their Dad’s name, right? Common enough first name across the Red Sector though, and none of the hits make any sense. She’s got about a hundred but the birthdates and locations don’t match up. She knows the twins are from somewhere **very** isolated, had no access to med tech or even other people from what they’ve shared in the past. She’s close but something’s missing, it’s on the tip of her tongue, and the subject is far too delicate to ask for help from her usual data sources - Sol she wouldn’t trust remotely, and her Info traders? Not a chance.

…Ven?

Well. Ven probably wouldn’t approve. _She_ kind of doesn’t approve really, Troy isn’t telling her because he doesn’t want to, and yet she’s still digging, scrounging for info, burrowing into his past like a little tick. Maybe it’s not right, but maybe he shouldn’t be lying to her. She’s told him things on those quiet somber nights she’s not told _anyone_ else, she’s been there for them both when no one else was, and they are keeping _secrets_ from her?

What she’s doing ain’t right, but neither is that, treating her like she’s an outsider when she opened her home and life and heart to the pair of them and asked for nothing back, so fuck it.

##  She’s close, she’ll get there eventually. _Always does_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


	109. These days I could do without enemies (ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note - Longer shorts in the Leech Lord collection are all canonical and contain important plot and reference points, if you want to check them out, they are in the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LeechLordAU

* * *

> It was so late it felt like time itself had passed out, that void somewhere in the AM between being tired enough to fall asleep where you stand and feeling the nervous energy of dawn approaching.

> The air in the Mechanicum was crisp with night chill when the E-Dev in her pocket vibrated, and Saint Ur-Machina’s heart sunk in her chest as she grimaced under her welding mask. No need to check who it was, she’d known before he’d even sent the message.

> The God-King was _angry_.

She sighed, rubbing oily hands into oilier overalls, and frowned at how pointless a gesture trying to clean them had been at all, picking bits of filth out from under her nails as she leaned against the rough wall of the hangar. Pointless maybe, but a distraction, and Seifa needed one of those right now.

The God-King was angry with _himself_ , and that meant the people he cared about the most would take the rage.

The workfloor clock read 3:56AM where it hung from the rafter above her station, clunky ticking echoing across the empty bay. No one but her still working, and she shouldn’t really have been there either considering the hour, but that had stopped feeling like it mattered a long time ago. Shewas _always_ there now. Always working, like she haunted the place. Funny, she used to be _so_ good about managing her time…

The welding mask threw a cloud of sawdust as it bounced across the floor towards the machine she’d kicked it at. She didn’t even know what to call the horrible thing that loomed in front of her, some juggernaut of sleek metal she’d been ordered to run performance checks on, jagged lines illuminated by the sickly floor lamps she’d arranged around its skeleton.

Warmachines. Unnamed projects with stacks of paperwork marking them as highly classified, Troy’s insignia and the same word she kept seeing over and over in confidential documentation - Uroboros. Tasted like a bad idea, reeked of poor decisions, and she’d always sniffed those out like a Skag.

What the hell did Seifa A'Rosk know about _warmachines_ anyway? They used to build Technicals here, outriders. COV custom Cyclones for stream events, this wasn’t what she signed up for, none of it was. Managing the engineering crew should never have shifted into whatever the fuck THIS was.

The steel monster in front of her bled oil silently into the sawdust, refusing to give an answer. Whatever _this_ was, it was for Gods and Sirens, and that was a world she wasn’t part of, not really. She wasn’t a Saint, she was just a ghost, caught repeating the same mistakes over and over till she faded away.

The E-Dev in her pocket vibrated again, and she tapped the back of her head against the plate steel wall, trying to convince herself she wasn’t ready to vomit as she squinted up towards the hangar’s ceiling, lost to the night murk the lights around her couldn’t quite cut through.

She figured she should answer, making him wait was just going to make this _worse_.

Jak-Knife had already warned her, a curt ping earlier today to “ _sstay ou t of his way it s bad seiifa_ ”. Ven too when he’d dropped by in the afternoon with the excuse of worrying about if she’d eaten yet and half a bag of something spicy and dripping in grease. He’d said the Cathedral staff were noose tight and whispering nervously about an incident a few hours before, something had gone wrong in a talk with visiting sponsors - with _the twins_. Word on the rumour mill was it had nearly turned vicious, the suits looking ready to brick themselves as they’d all but ran through the meeting room’s doors after Troy had flung them open hard enough to unhinge one, and according to priests who’d been on hand? Tyreen had really _embarrassed him_.

Sei had winced as Ven explained, both painfully aware of this behaviour pattern and what it meant for everyone he was close to. Why the God Queen had been going out of her way to put her brother down in front of high-value clients recently was impossible to guess - no one could _really_ get into her head or understand her decisions lately, but this wasn’t the first time, and if anything it was getting worse. Little insults. Little knife-sharp jokes that weren’t jokes _at all_ , and mockeries masked behind a paper thin smile like it made them less deadly. She’d imply he was a burden, or undermine his expertise in ways so cleverly worded that the officials would have no choice but to laugh awkwardly as Troy _seethed_ while his twin continued with negotiations.

Today she’d apparently told him to make himself _actually_ useful and fetch their guests some drinks, right in front of servant crew and moments after he’d finished a gruelling breakdown of growth projections and profit expectations for this quarter to a rapt audience. It’s hard to tell if him snapping had actually surprised her or had been exactly what she _wanted_ , but the staff who’d been there were terrified, and insisted the Vault Mother had looked genuinely shocked when the desk he threw had missed her head by barely a few inches.

He’d stalked out of the meeting and vanished into the upper cloister, and now it was the middle of the night and her E-Dev pinged _for a third time_.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe out the fear coiling through her ribs in a shaky exhale. She knew exactly what was happening, it was the same as always with him. Enraged, dripping with self-loathing, and lost somewhere in that toxic mood somewhere between vicious and pitiful - looking for something to **hurt** , looking for a way to vent the pain as he paced like a snarling monster, muttering like he was arguing something with himself, a back and forth of accusations and desperate apologies to something no one else could see.

Tyreen couldn’t eat him alive with her powers but she could do it with her words… and maybe that’s what had changed. Maybe she’d realised a new way to control her twin with manipulations that left him so emasculated and damaged in confidence that he wanted to _tear something he loved apart_ just so he could turn the hatred on himself after.

Of course it was going to be her.

The same dance every time now, the same frustrating steps that she’d memorised by this point, trying to break him out of his deadly spiral as he’d rant at rave at her, till he’d attack _her_ somehow, then skulk into the shadows when he was done foaming at the mouth, leaving her to carry everything he’d piled onto her shoulders - the threats, the hate, the _aggression_ , only to beg for her forgiveness the next day and be ignored.

He’d spend a week desperately apologising, showing how much he understood how pathetically wrong what he had done had been, sending ridiculous gifts to the mechanicum where he knew they’d have to be accepted under his sigil, reassure over and over in messages that it wouldn’t happen again, that he’d just been under _so much pressure_ , that he’d just _snapped_ , that it wasn’t right and she hadn’t deserved it and how much her friendship **mattered**.

The E-Dev pinged one last time, and Seifa straightened, dusting off her overalls and adjusting the toolbelt slung around her waist.

God-King Calypso demanded a sacrifice - self harm masked as a blade he’d lash at someone he loved so it would cut _him_ all the deeper. She’d take it, better her than someone else. She could handle him. 

She always had.

* * *

It was raining again, felt like that hadn’t stopped at all this month. Pandora had wet seasons, it’s just that the water never seemed to _go_ anywhere. The acrid dust absorbed it almost as fast as it could fall, but in the city it flooded the streets as it rushed down gutters. Neon light reflected from gaudy signs in pools of colour that swam across the uneven paving stones as she slowly made her way towards the Cathedral, a waterproof canvas thrown around her shoulders protecting from the downpour.

Even at this time of night, the city was still alive. It never really stilled anymore, too many deals going down in alleys and money changing hands in clubs for it to ever actually _sleep_ , and as she picked her way past huddled locals far too engrossed in their own business to pay her any mind, Seifa wondered when it was things had changed like this.

This place had been a shanty town, hadn’t it? When she’d arrived to take over the engineering division there had been maybe one, two thousand COV followers camped around the cathedral in rickety shelters. Bandits mostly, erecting camps and functional living quarters with expertise alien to any outsider. It was a _city_ now, fuck, it was a metropolis. She’d overseen the building of half of the major apartment systems in the inner ring around the holy quarter, so how did it still feel like it had grown of out nowhere?

Sei huffed out a steamy breath into the chill night air as the cathedral began to come into view, bass music and laughter fading as it was swallowed into the drumming of the rain on the buildings she left behind her.

She used to be so proud when she saw it, the awesome majesty of its twisted spires and jutting angles framed against the rocky outcrop that loomed behind it. Nowadays it just looked like something grotesque, a mirror of what it contained maybe. The COV was rotting from within, and everyone knew the source.

She’d been warned by friends more willing to face the harsh realities of the twin’s decline that _time was running out_.

Tonight, tomorrow, a week from now, it didn’t matter why it was going to happen, just that it would, and as much as she hated admitting it to _anyone_ , Seifa knew she wasn’t strong enough to do this much longer.

He was killing her.

Anything could set him off now, it was constant. Numbers under-performing this week, an underhanded comment from Tyreen that tipped the balance, not enough sleep, too many stims, not gaining weight, an article mocking his appearance, anything. It could have been any of them he had summoned, her, Ven, JK, the why or who was inconsequential because the desired outcome was always the same.

Troy wanted to hurt himself, not them, but he didn’t know how. The pressure would build and build till he broke down, lost logic, went wild-eyed and shaking in barely controlled rage. He _hated_ being Troy Calypso so much there were times he wanted to tear his own skin off, he’d told her as much on nights alone and open in shared sadness, but there was no _escape_. It was this, or starving in a manner she couldn’t even comprehend, and when he’d asked before if maybe that would be the _better option_?

…She’d not known what to say. She’d failed him then, tripping over the words catching in her lungs as he desperately waited for an answer that would make sense of things, and she’d never been able to give one. Just sat next to him as they both sank deeper into the trap of their titles and the horrible reality that there was _no clear way out_.

* * *

He was waiting in the throne room for her, just like she’d imagined. Pacing back and forth across the dias as the city light streamed through the stained glass windows, glinting sharply off the rattling gold spines his ritual gear was decorated with as he moved.

She’d stood in silence, watching, trying to catch _what_ he was asking himself as he’d snap a muttered retort in spite, but not able to ever make out the questions. Like an animal snared in gilded chains she figured, or something else maybe - an idol pretending to be something living? A shiver had ran through her as she waited for him to turn his frantic attention to her, quietly waiting for the blow to come. No one had even been there to greet her or open the doors to the throne room, they were ajar, the staff knowing better than to risk being in his presence when he was like this… she smirked, knowing better than _her_ , anyway.

He’d shifted attention to her so smoothly it felt like the rant he’d been hissing to himself just _continued_ directly into her as he’d turned, beckoning her closer with a quirk of those _horrible_ claws. She’d bit her lip and swallowed down how much that enraged her, being summoned like a fucking dog when this man so often made clear he viewed himself as dirt in comparison to her, but months of dealing with him had tempered the reaction. Easier to go along with it, _placate him_ , nod and let him vent out the bile till he realised how much of a fucking _asshole he was_ and came crawling back later.

It was the same dance as usual, the exact same steps. She could feel where he was going with each shift in direction, jumping topic to topic in an attempt to place blame and becoming more enraged with each simple refute she could offer. She never made it easy, that wasn’t her nature in the end, she’d calmly reply back to each accusation with logic that left him shaking harder as the fury built, like a caged predator or roid-mad Psycho desperate to attack but not getting the _opening_. She could play this game for hours, long enough to make sure he worked for the satisfaction, even if it left her exhausted.

She’d always been petty, after all.

He threw snarled jabs at Mechanicum performance, raised complaints that she knew weren’t true, accused “concerns” about output she could disarm easily, the same as always, till suddenly he shifted.. and everything went wrong.

She could handle him with spines raised and teeth bared, she could stand unflinching as he aimed blows that he never _really_ landed, but she hadn’t been prepared for him to suddenly relax. He’d stood straight, rolling the weight of the prosthetic on a shoulder all casual and friendly like suddenly he wasn’t _seething_ under the grin his snarl melted into, and she’d felt a jolt of fear. This was something new, this was something… worse, she could feel it like electricity crackling up her spine, and for the first time that night her heart began to pick up a stuttered pounding as cool sweat beaded down her back. He took a step closer, and for just a second, there was a question flittering across the back of her mind that screamed something she couldn’t ignore before it vanished into her practiced calm.

For a split second, Seifa questioned if this _was_ Troy.

“You know, it’s funny, Sei…”

She opened her mouth to warn him to stop, the atmosphere was at fever point, he was going to go _too far_ , something in how terrified his eyes looked against he vicious curve of his smile sent panic through her chest.

“Troy” her voice cracked “Come on, Troy you know you shouldn’t keep going, this is -”

He cut her off with a _tsk_ and raise of a bladed finger, bending to lower his face closer to hers from where he towered above her.

“ **Rude** Seifa, I was _talking_.”

He was near enough to feel the body heat glowing from his chest, and her voice choked in her throat as the point of a talon tapped gently against her nose as if he was chiding some _kid_.

“Funny isn’t it?” He cooed, and it wasn’t.

“You used to have so much time for me, didn’t you. We used to really _spend time together_ …” the lack of his stutter was a warning she knew him too well to ignore.

“… but nowadays you’re so _desperate_ to get out of my presence that I can literally _see_ your skin crawl while you’re forced to be around me. It’s happening right now Sei… ain’t it.”

That was a lie, and she wanted to slap his hand away from where it pointed towards her chest, push him back towards the throne behind him and tell him how _stupid_ an attack that was. She’s always had time for him, she gave him infinite time, she gave him so much of herself that she’d been crumbling, she wanted to tell him the truth of it, that how much she gave him had been _killing_ her, but she couldn’t, he didn’t give her the chance.

“You’ve got _allllll_ the energy in the world for your little _friends_ though, don’t you. You’ve got laughter and happiness to pour all over them, fill them up with, show them how much you care, but not me, not _anymore_. And you know, that’s got me thinking recently!”

The smile was fake but the monster behind it wasn’t. He may as well have been snarling, and she was fully aware he wasn’t really attempting to hide that at all.

He stepped a fraction closer again, close enough for her to reach and press a warning hand against his chest as he leaned further down to meet her eyes, the veneer of his calm cracking under the weight of the now haggard, panting breathes he whistled through that vicious smile, the _terror_ in his eyes. She didn’t understand any of this, why was he so afraid when it was him pressing this onwards, why was he so panicked when the act was so calm? His skin was like fucking fire under her hand and the push she gave to try and move him back did _nothing_.

“Made me realise, maybe I was never your friend really - maybe I was just something you held onto like a lifeline in the storm of your shitty life choices, huh?” She felt tears rise, this wasn’t fair, this was too real now, this was being aimed at his _friend_ not his employee, but he wouldn’t stop.

“Taken for a ride while you lead me on all these years. That would explain it, right? How much you got for them, how much you’ll _give_ them, when I’m just a burden to you. Or…”

His mouth was next to her ear and she wanted to beg him to stop before it was too late, before he did what she knew he was about to do. To stop before he decimated everything, but the words were caught behind the sob she refused to let spill as he drove the knife home with one last twist.

“Maybe the real problem here Seifa, is they are _m_ _ore_ than friends, hmm? Because that’s your real operation method, isn’t it. That’s how you get what you want, everyone knows it. Maybe _t_ _hey_ met your standards, but you just never saw me as _good enough to **fuck**_.”

The crack of his jaw against her fist echoed through the stone throne room for long enough to make the silence that came after all the more horrible.

She remembers that, that noise and the pain ripping through her hand in burning waves, but she doesn’t really remember the rest. 

She doesn’t fully remember what she saw, the flash of those glaring, _monstrous eyes_ that burned down on them both as Troy reeled in horrified shock, cradling his face in confusion like he couldn’t understand why she’d just hit him, she doesn’t remember the flicker of Siren wings or the _laughter_ that echoed somewhere in the back of her mind but made no sound.

It’s a daze. Whatever he whispered pleadingly after, teary-eyed and shaking, she didn’t hear.

She doesn’t remember leaving and how she stormed down the Cathedral halls and into the freezing night air, doesn’t remember who saw her or if clergy had been there. Doesn’t remember the way she’d mindlessly picked towards the hi-rise Ven’s quarters were in before realising she was walking the wrong way, or how effortlessly she’d flipped the ignition in her ship, or how prepped she’d been to jump out of Pandora’s orbit soon as she hit safe distance, doesn’t remember any of it.

But the pain in her hand and the look in his eyes after, she _fucking remembers that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asks are open on my Tumblr - https://border-spam.tumblr.com
> 
> Character response request, world-building info, anything you like is fine. Content from Tumblr will be pushed here weekly! Feel free to leave comments as asks here if you don't mind being non anon, and I'm always super thankful for any feedback!


End file.
